Green Monster (29 page)
“Where'd you get the idea I was going to marry Heather?”
“Heather told me you promised to marry her after Katherine died,” Sam said.
“I knew it all along,” Katherine said.
“Never,” Kenwood said. “May God strike me dead if I ever told her that.”
It was Sam's turn to be stunned.
“Then where did she get that idea?” Sam said.
“God rest her soul, she was brilliant and beautiful, but I think she must have been a little crazy,” Kenwood said. “Yeah, we had a fling. That wasn't hard to guess. But marry her? All in her imagination. I've been married twice. That's enough.”
He looked at Katherine. The streaks running down both of their faces were tears mixed with the rain.
“I'd already found the love of my life.”
The clouds parted well before game time that Sunday, but the Red Sox-Yankees showdown was postponed anyway. It would be made up the day after the regular season, if necessary. The Sox went on to sweep the following series with the Rays, while the Yankees were losing two of three to the Orioles, and Boston had a one-game lead with three, or at most four, games to play.
Katherine Kenwood was arrested for murder and was released from the Suffolk County jail when Lucky Louie paid her $500,000 bail. He wanted to take her home, but she was too frail. She died at Mass General two days later. Lou Kenwood scheduled a memorial ceremony for her prior to that night's Rays game at Fenway Park, and was persuaded by his staff to include Heather, too. Katherine's video tribute lasted five minutes, and included the announcement of the establishment of the Katherine Kenwood Foundation. Heather was mentioned once.
Sam called the L.A. police and learned that Frankie Navarro and a Kimberly Ryan had been detained after the Palos Verdes shootout, and eventually released. Joey “Icebox” Mattaliano had been found unconscious on Ryan's back deck, and was still in custody. No arrests had been made in the Laswell Gym murders; Sid Mink was seen in his oversized Dodger Stadium box seat Sunday afternoon. No one seemed to know where Frankie Navarro was, but his girlfriend Fawna had been found shot to death at the home Frankie owned. Frankie was the prime suspect in a presumed domestic dispute, but Sam knew otherwise. Sid Mink's boys had gone back to Frankie's house after the car wreck, forced Fawna to tell them where Bruce lived, and then killed her. She had been acting when she told Sam and Heather she didn't know who Bruce was. She'd actually been damn good.
Acting was not in Frankie's future, at least not in L.A.
Sam remained in Boston until Thursday, answering questions about the case for the police, the press, and the Commissioner's office. Lou Kenwood was convinced that it was safe to talk about the plot now, with Miranda willing to refute the allegations and no other proof ever having been brought forward. To deal with the increasing crush of worldwide media attention the story had gathered, Lucky Louie scheduled a press conference at Fenway Park for Thursday at one p.m.
Russ Daly flew in from Los Angeles on Wednesday for the press conference, and called Sam at the Taj Boston. Sam invited him up for a drink. He had a bottle of Woodford Reserve, which Daly gladly helped him finish.
“You owe me, Skarda.” Daly eased his bulky frame into one of the stuffed armchairs by the fireplace. “I could have blown this story open last week.”
“I know,” Sam said. “That's why I decided to call you in L.A. I knew you wouldn't.”
“I think I deserve something for my remarkable discretion.”
“What do you want?”
“Something other than the B.S. Kenwood's been feeding the Boston writers.”
So Sam told Daly the whole story, starting with the call he got from Heather in Minneapolis, the shooting outside the Boom Boom Room, and almost everything else right up to the moment that Katherine pulled the trigger on the gun Sam had helped her learn how to use.
He did hold back on a few details. He didn't tell Daly that the hitman in the boat was somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic off Marblehead Neck, and he didn't tell him that the fatal blow to Guillermo “Jefe” Llenas had been struck by Alberto Miranda; nor did he tell Daly that he'd placed the gun in Jefe's hand before the Caracas police arrived.
“Use whatever you want,” Sam said when he was finished. “As long as you get the lead right: Alberto Miranda did not throw the World Series. The Sox won it.”
“Some people will never believe that now,” Daly said.
“Do you believe it?”
“Doesn't matter what I believe.”
“Yeah, but I'm curious.”
Daly took a long sip of his bourbon and then put his glass down on the table next to him.
“I believe it. That's the trouble with being a sportswriter. With all the shit I've seen, I'm still too fuckin' gullible. I want the fairy-tale ending.”
“Not much of a fairy tale,” Sam said. He swallowed some of his own bourbon and felt its effects moving like sorrow through his system. “Heather's dead, Katherine's dead, Bruce is deadâ¦Fawna's dead, and Lou's going to be dead, too, before too long.”
“I'll tell you one thing,” Daly said. “If I was a beautiful blonde with office skills, I'd be applying for a job with the Red Sox tomorrow morning. Could end up owning the team.”
Sam thought about hanging around through the weekend to see how the Sox did in their season-ending series with the OriolesâLou had almost begged him to watch the games with him in his owner's suiteâbut he knew he needed to get away from Fenway, the Green Monster, and the Red Sox. He would watch the Sox in the playoffs, if they made it that far.
Sam placed two calls before leaving Boston. One was to Caroline, assuring her that he was still in one piece. Caroline had read about the Green Monster deaths in the paper, and asked if the woman who was killed was the same woman she'd helped fly to Caracas with Sam. Sam said it was.
“Sam, come to Tucson as soon as you get a chance,” she said in a soft voice. “We need to be with each other for a while.”
The other phone call was to Alberto Miranda. His elation at saving his mother's life had turned to despair at the news of Heather's death.
“She loved you, Alberto,” Sam said. “She knew you were a good man.”
“I loved her,” Miranda said. He sounded much farther away than the 2,200 miles between Boston and Caracas.
“Honor her memory. Play the game the right way. Play it clean. That's all she would have asked of you.”
“I know, man. I know.”
***
Kenwood sent a car to the hotel Thursday afternoon to take Sam to the airport, and Sam was happy to see Paul O'Brien get out of the driver's seat and greet him in front of the hotel.
“Afternoon, Mr. Skarda,” Paul said. “Let me help you with your luggage.”
Once they'd pulled away from the hotel, Sam said, “Paul, I want you to know how sorry I am for what happened.”
“Don't worry about it.” Paul looked back at Sam in his rear-view mirror. “It was a bad deal, but it wasn't your fault. You risked your life.”
“I got you fired.”
“No harm done,” Paul said. The accent was creeping back into his voice, the “r” disappearing from “harm.” “Mr. Kenwood explained what happened. I got a nice raise, too.”
“How's your dad?”
“Hanging in there. Thanks for asking.”
For the rest of the ride to the airport, Sam and Paul did what guys do: They talked baseball. Hurtado had agreed to a new four-year contract at $20,000,000 per season. He'd be 36 years old at the end of the deal, and Paul didn't think he'd be worth that kind of money in two more seasons, but how could you let him go after what he'd done in the last week? The pitching staffâespecially the bullpenâwas worn out after the furious effort it had taken to string together the 11-game win streak that had put them in first place. But the Yankees' pitching was in even worse shape; their bullpen was in tatters, and they'd had to call up a starting pitcher off their Scranton roster to start Friday's game in place of their 18-game winner, who had a sore elbow.
“I gotta say, it looks good for the Sox this weekend,” Sam said.
They had emerged from the Ted Williams Tunnel near Logan Airport. Paul glanced back at Sam in the mirror, and Sam saw it in his eyes: the eternal battle between faith and despair that was the birthright of every Red Sox fan.
“I only know one thing for sure about the Red Sox,” Paul said. “Sooner or later, they're gonna find a way to break your heart.”
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