Next of Kin (19 page)

‘I didn’t.’

‘Can you tell me now? It may save some valuable time for both you and the senator.’

‘It’s something I need to talk to Senator Buchanan about directly.’

‘Are you sure? I may be able to help you while we wait.’

‘Never let it be said that I turned down an offer of assistance,’ Long said. ‘You may be able to give me some background. You work out of the office here?’

She nodded. ‘This is where the senator prefers to work. We keep a couple of people at the downtown office, but most of the important work goes on here.’

‘Does that include work on the reelection campaign?’

‘Some. We’re very careful, of course, because there are rules about who can work on the campaign. We don’t want to be accused of using taxpayer resources to run the reelection,
but yes, many of the campaign staffers are located here.’

‘Who is in charge of the campaign’s finances?’ Long asked.

She hesitated. ‘I should probably know, but I don’t. I don’t deal with the finance people at all. I handle the senator’s calendar. I do some typing, too. It’s a
pretty traditional role, I guess.’

‘Nothing wrong with a traditional role,’ Long said. ‘Is he a decent boss?’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ Long said. ‘I thought it was a pretty straightforward question. Is he a decent boss? Is he nice? Does he treat you well?’ He noted her
hesitation.

‘He treats me very well,’ she said, though her expression didn’t lighten at all.

‘He has a reputation,’ Long said. It was non-specific; he could have been referring to a good reputation or a bad one. He wanted to see how she would interpret it.

‘I don’t know what you’re referring to,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘And I think I resent the implication.’

‘I wasn’t implying anything,’ Long said. The two of them looked at each other in silence. ‘Are my questions making you uncomfortable?’

‘No,’ she said, though her arms remained crossed. ‘It’s just that –’ She cut herself off abruptly. Long’s back was to the door, but he recognized the
change in Sonia Harding’s posture as an indication that someone had entered the room. She stood. ‘Senator,’ she said.

Long stood up as well and turned toward the door. The man lingering in the doorway cut an imposing figure. He was tall, six-three at least, with the broad shoulders of an ex-athlete who worked
hard to keep at least the vestiges of his former physique. He had thick dark hair framing a prominent forehead, and carved, attractive features. He smiled and his cosmetically enhanced teeth
gleamed. ‘Detective,’ he said, ignoring his personal secretary.

‘Senator,’ Long said.

‘Thank you, Sonia,’ Buchanan said without looking at the woman, ‘you can get back to your work.’ She nodded and walked out without a word. Buchanan didn’t look at
her until she’d already passed, and then he turned to follow her retreat. Long noticed his eyes track her below the waist. He turned back to Long. ‘What can I do for you, Detective . .
. ?’

‘Long.’

‘Detective Long.’ Buchanan advanced to shake Long’s hand. ‘You were cryptic over the phone. I might have put you off, but you piqued my curiosity.’

‘I just have a few questions,’ Long said.

‘About what?’

‘An investigation I’m pursuing. It’s probably nothing.’ Long wanted to put the senator at ease; not that he appeared to be the type who was easily rattled.

‘Well, I’ll help in any way that I can.’

‘I appreciate that. Are you familiar with a man named Eamonn McDougal?’

Buchanan frowned. ‘I’m not sure; the name sounds familiar, but maybe that’s just because it’s a familiar-sounding name.’

‘Eamonn is familiar-sounding?’

‘McDougal,’ Buchanan said.

‘Ah,’ Long said. He let the silence linger. ‘Or, maybe the name sounds familiar because he was one of your largest contributors. He gave the maximum amount allowed by
law.’

‘Really? I wasn’t aware.’ Buchanan’s tone was conversational but guarded.

Long nodded. ‘It’s amazing how much information is accessible now, with the Internet.’

Buchanan shrugged. ‘There were many people who gave the maximum to my campaign. I wish I could say that I knew every one of them. The truth is, I know very few of them.’

‘I understand,’ Long said. ‘It’s hard to keep track. On the other hand, every single one of the employees at the companies he runs gave the maximum as well. Right down to
the janitors. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’

The senator cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps, but not unheard of.’

‘When else have you heard of it?’

‘It feels like you have a point to make, Detective,’ Buchanan said. ‘Maybe it would be helpful if you shared it with me.’

‘Well, it just occurs to me that if McDougal has been using his employees to conceal campaign payments to you above the legal limit, that would be a serious violation, wouldn’t
it?’

‘I suppose it would.’

‘And given the fact that you’re on the Banking and Finance Committee, which controls the regulations that impact several of the financial companies McDougal controls, that would look
pretty bad for you, too, right?’

Buchanan didn’t answer. Instead he smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Detective Long, I must have missed the session of Congress where we assigned jurisdiction over campaign finance to the
Boston Police Department. My understanding was that this was a matter for the federal authorities. Which, of course, would mean that you are investigating a matter without any proper authorization.
I just mention this because I wouldn’t want you to get yourself into any trouble.’

‘Thank you for your concern, Senator. But you don’t need to worry, I’m not investigating campaign finance violations.’

‘Then what are you investigating?’

‘Murder.’

Long kept his eyes trained on Buchanan, evaluating his reaction. The senator would have made an excellent poker player, but Long could see the immediate twitch of his eye and the involuntary
movement of his jaw.

Buchanan asked, ‘Who was murdered?’

‘A woman named Elizabeth Connor,’ Long said. ‘She lived in Roxbury.’

Buchanan shook his head. ‘I don’t believe I knew her. I don’t spend much time in Roxbury.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ Long replied. ‘Which was why I found it so interesting that she called you five times in the weeks before she was killed.’ With that,
Buchanan went white. ‘What seems even stranger to me,’ Long continued, ‘is the fact that each time she got off the phone with you, she immediately called Eamonn McDougal. She
worked for him at one of his businesses. Oh, and I should also mention that Eamonn McDougal is one of the principal figures in organized crime in New England. So, when you put together the phone
calls, the campaign contributions, and the murder of Ms Connor, I’m sure you can see why I have to ask a few questions.’

For a moment, Long thought Buchanan had swallowed his tongue. He stood there, gaping, his jaw slack, his eyes bulging slightly. ‘I’m sorry, Detective,’ he said. ‘I have a
call scheduled that I must take. It shouldn’t take too much time – if you’d care to wait?’

Long nodded. ‘Of course, Senator,’ he said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘Finn’s in trouble, isn’t he?’

Sally was sitting in Lissa’s kitchen watching her struggle to get some of the mashed banana from the jar of baby food into her son’s mouth. It was Reggie’s day off, and from
the look of things Sally suspected that if he ever took an entire week’s vacation the baby might starve.

‘Why would you think that?’

It was an annoying lawyer’s non-answer. Lawyers answered questions with questions; they probed, they never committed. The baby bobbed and weaved and Lissa tried to keep up with the spoon.
A large dollop of banana fell to the floor.

‘He wouldn’t give me a straight answer this morning. Then he ditches me off on you.’

‘He had some work to do.’ Andrew spat a mouthful of banana.

‘Don’t give me that. If he just had work to do, he would have told me,’ Sally said. ‘If he just had work to do, he wouldn’t have taken Koz with him.’

‘Who said Koz is with him?’

‘He’s not here, is he? I’m not a moron.’

Lissa scraped some of the mush off her son’s face with the spoon and aimed again for his mouth. ‘No,’ she said with a sigh. ‘You’re clearly not a moron.’

‘So? He’s in trouble?’ Sally clenched her fists underneath the counter.

‘Not really,’ Lissa said. ‘Not in a way he and Koz can’t handle.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

Lissa gave up on the feeding and started to clear the mess away. ‘I can’t. But you’ve got to believe, and you’ve got to let them work it out. They’re men –
they see a problem, they need to fix it.’

‘What if we can help?’ Sally asked.

‘If you could, you would. Right now, though, they have to handle this on their own. Besides, Finn is responsible for you now. He doesn’t want to put you in any sort of a position
where you can be hurt. You’ve got to let that be his call.’

‘That’s not how it’s supposed to work,’ Sally said. ‘Where I come from, if someone you care about is in trouble, you’re supposed to stand up for
them.’

‘Is that the way it’s worked for you?’

Sally shook her head again. ‘No. That’s the way it’s supposed to work, though. That’s what my parents never understood.’

Long waited in the library for what seemed like an eternity. Pacing back and forth on the heavy oriental rug, he began to wonder whether he’d played it right. He could
have called the senator down to the station house for an official discussion, but that would have gotten the brass involved. Once that happened, he’d likely be taken off the case. The last
thing the higher-ups wanted was the departmental burnout poking around in the affairs of a man as powerful as James Buchanan. In all likelihood, the connection between Buchanan, McDougal and
Elizabeth Connor would be covered up in the regular course of political horse-trading that went on at the highest levels of the law enforcement bureaucracy.

He walked over to the window and looked out on Louisburg Square. It was a patch of grass less than half the size of a football field surrounded by four-hundred-year-old cobblestone streets so
uneven that any vehicle other than the highest-end luxury SUVs wouldn’t survive regular use in the area. The streets could easily have been made more accommodating, but that would detract
from the atmosphere of nineteenth-century privilege and gentility the residents preferred. The tiny plot of green, reserved for those with townhouses on the square and fenced off against the
rabble, represented the last stand of a world all but disappeared.

‘I need to borrow a car,’ a voice came from behind him.

He turned. The light was streaming in from the street through the ten-foot-high window, casting him in silhouette. The woman in the doorway squinted to see him. ‘You’re not my
father,’ she said after a moment.

‘No, I’m not,’ Long agreed.

She was tall, with James Buchanan’s dark hair and chiseled features. There was no mistaking her for anyone else’s child. And yet there was something different about her. She was
dressed in a short skirt and a sheer, loose-fitting T-shirt.

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘Police,’ he said. ‘I’m here to talk to the senator. He’s your father?’

She made a face and nodded in a reluctant sort of way. He was guessing she was in her late twenties, though she presented younger. ‘What are you here to talk to my father about?’

‘It’s confidential,’ he said.

‘Everything my father does is confidential,’ she said. ‘Makes it hard to have a conversation around here sometimes. I’m Brooke.’

He nodded to her. ‘Detective Long.’

‘That’s a very formal name.’

‘Comes with the badge.’

‘Too bad.’ She walked over to the side table where two decanters of liquor stood. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ She reached down and opened a bookcase; Long was surprised to
see a small refrigerator hidden behind a set of false book spines.

He looked at his watch; it was eleven-fifteen. ‘It’s a little early for the hard stuff, isn’t it?’ he asked. He felt like a hypocrite as he spoke. There was a part of him
that was screaming to join her.

She tossed a few ice cubes into her glass, turned and smiled at him again. ‘It’s never too early for the hard stuff.’ She took the elaborate stopper out of the crystal decanter
of Scotch. Her pour was ostentatious, filling the glass until the booze just topped the rim, enough to bulge slightly above the glass, but not so full that it spilled. Long’s mouth went dry.
Raising the glass, she held it up to him in toast, took an extended swallow. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Is my father in trouble?’

‘What makes you ask that?’

‘You’re a cop.’

‘I am.’

‘That suggests that someone is in trouble.’

‘Maybe,’ Long said. ‘Do you know a woman named Elizabeth Connor?’ It was a shot in the dark, but he figured it couldn’t hurt.

She shook her head. ‘No. Should I?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Who is she?’

He shook his head. ‘Nobody. She was murdered recently.’

Brooke Buchanan seemed intrigued. ‘Really. A murder? I would have expected my father to be caught up in something more white collar. Maybe I underestimate him. What does he have to do with
it?’

‘Nothing that I’m aware of,’ he said, truthfully.

‘And yet, here you are.’

‘I’m just here to ask some questions.’

He was watching her, mesmerized, when the spell was broken by a shout.

‘Brooke!’

He turned. Standing at the door was a striking older woman. She was in her late fifties, dressed in an understated tailored silk suit. An endless string of pearls hung loosely from her neck, and
the diamond ring on her left hand looked heavy enough to weigh down her arm. She was shorter than the young woman in the T-shirt, but she stood straighter, and she had a regal bearing.

‘Mother, I just . . .’ Brooke looked at the glass as though it might tell her what to say.

‘Put that drink down!’ the older woman said.

Brooke looked embarrassed, and she hesitated.