Next of Kin (2 page)

Given the opportunity, Lissa hadn’t hesitated to pick out a new desk for herself. She’d chosen an antique Chippendale, with polished cherry wood and brass trimmings. She’d
always had expensive taste; she was raised with money, and had plenty of her own. Finn didn’t mind. The firm was doing well, and she was a big part of its success.

At the moment, Lissa was sitting behind her expensive desk on the other side of the room, watching McDougal rail at her boss with his chopped Irish accent and his tailored English suit as his
tight Italian shoes sank into the thick Persian rug. She kept her mouth shut; a struggle for her.

‘You sayin’ no?’ McDougal demanded from Finn. His eyes had gone dark; not a good sign.

‘I’m saying your son won’t take my advice. And the fact that he’s your son doesn’t change what my advice is gonna be.’

‘You don’t know nothin’ about the case, and already you know what your advice is gonna be?’

‘I know what I’ve read,’ Finn said.

‘Papers always get shit wrong,’ McDougal said.

‘And I know what you’ve told me.’

‘I get shit wrong, too. You know that. Just talk to him. I don’t want him fuckin’ things up any more than he already has.’

‘Ironic coming from you, Eamonn.’ Finn knew he’d crossed a line as the words died on his tongue.

‘You watch your fuckin’ mouth, boyo.’ McDougal wagged a finger at Finn. His face blossomed red, and he raised his voice. ‘I do what I do. I make no apologies. And I make
a lot of people a whole bundle of fuckin’ money – including you. You wanna play Mr Clean, I let you play. But don’t ever think that deep down you’re anythin’ different
than me or my people, ’cause you’re not.’ He paced angrily for another moment, took a deep breath and sat down in front of Finn’s desk again. He leaned forward, and regarded
Finn with a menacing expression. ‘We go back a ways, Finn. Not like family or nothin’, but I remember you when you was a kid on the street. I remember when you got out of the life.
I’ve done right by you ever since. Don’t turn it wrong now. Talk to the kid for me.’

Finn looked at McDougal for a long moment before he answered. What McDougal was saying was true; he was one of the first who regularly sent Finn business, and was still a significant source of
clients. The little firm could survive now without McDougal’s support, but it might not flourish in quite the way it had. Finn wondered whether it was worth it. He didn’t relish the
idea of feeling indebted to a man like McDougal. ‘I’m not cheating,’ he said. ‘You understand that?’

‘Yeah, ’course,’ McDougal said. ‘Goes without saying. You lose your license, my boys lose the best goddamned defense lawyer in Boston. I want that?’

Finn watched the man’s eyes. They didn’t blink. ‘Okay. I’ll talk to him.’

McDougal stood. ‘You’re a good shit, Finn.’

‘High praise.’

McDougal grunted. Turning around, he nodded to Lissa. She made a face. ‘I’ll see you, counselors,’ he said. ‘Keep up the good work.’ He opened the front door and
walked out into the crisp October air, to the Caddy double-parked on Warren Street. Two heavy-set men leaning on the fender stood when they saw him. One opened the back door for him; the other
climbed into the driver’s seat. Finn stood at the window, watching the car pull away.

‘Way to be strong, Boss,’ Lissa said. ‘You set him straight.’

‘What did you want me to do?’

‘It’s a bad idea, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Yeah,’ Finn agreed. ‘It’s a bad idea.’

A breeze blew withered leaves into piles in front of the three-story brownstone on Massachusetts Avenue near Melnea Cass Boulevard as Detective Zachary Long pulled up to the
curb. He looked down at the address he’d jotted on his pad to make sure he had it right. Six-Seventy-Nine. He had it right. He leaned down below the dashboard for a moment, pulling a flask
bottle from under the seat, tipping it to his lips, then putting it back.

Looking up, he could see that the stoops on either side of the building were crowded with faces of varying shades of brown. They regarded him warily as he stepped out of his car. Only one person
was on the stoop of the building itself. Officer Ray Washington stood like a uniformed sentry at the front door, protecting the entrance, mirroring the uneasy resentment directed toward him from
those hovering nearby.

Long looked up at the building. Removed from its surroundings and transported ten blocks north to the fashionable Back Bay section of town, it would have been a gem. It stood solid, with tall,
arched windows in the four-story front bay, conveying a sense of sullen pride. Two doors down, a similar building stood vacant, boarded up and derelict. Ambulances crawled through the inner-city
traffic, sirens screaming, carrying the unfortunate to the nearby Metropolitan Hospital. An argument was breaking out at the bodega across the street, anger shot through in heavy accents. Horns
could be heard blaring from the nearby Southeast Expressway.

Long pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, crumpled the wrapper and put it back in his pocket. It was habit more than anything else; he was almost at the point
where he didn’t care who knew about his drinking.

He walked deliberately, taking in the scene as he approached. As he got to the front steps, he paused and looked at those gathered near the entrance of the building next door, isolated the face
of the biggest man there, and nodded to him. Those standing with the man on the stoop looked at their companion, eyes curious. The man seemed reluctant for a moment, his eyes darting to the ground,
but eventually he nodded back. It was a good start; Long would need cooperation from the neighbors, and it was important to establish authority and acceptance as quickly as possible.

As he turned back toward the front door, Long caught a face in the crowd out of the corner of his eye. The face registered. He didn’t quite recognize it, but it was familiar to him; like a
phantom fading from a dream in the early moments of morning, hazy and distant. It was one of the few Caucasian faces in the crowd, framed by steel gray hair that matched the sky. A light pink scar
in the shape of a ‘v’ marred the forehead. But what truly made the man stand out was the fact that he was looking directly at Long. While the others only looked toward him, the man with
the scar was regarding him directly without the slightest hint of reservation. The image sounded an alarm in the back of Long’s head. It was such a subtle thing that it took a moment for him
to recognize the intuition, and he spun back to the crowd, his own eyes burning as they sought out the face again.

The man was gone.

Long gripped the stoop’s rusting handrail, as he considered giving chase. But then he wondered:
Chase what? Chase who?
What had the man done to be chased? It was no crime, after
all, to look out of place.

He took one last long look through the crowd before continuing his ascent.

Officer Washington looked nervously at Long. A light sweat had broken out on his forehead underneath his policeman’s cap despite the cool of the October weather. Long understood why.
‘Detective,’ Washington said. ‘You got here quick.’

‘I was on the way in when I got the call,’ Long replied. ‘Just pulled off the highway.’

Washington looked at his watch and smiled uneasily. Long knew it was after eleven. ‘You’re just coming in? I gotta get myself into plain-clothes.’

‘I was at a funeral.’

‘Sorry. Anyone close to you?’

Long shook his head. ‘My father.’

‘Shit. I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry.’

‘So’s he. What’ve we got in here?’ Washington hesitated. Long could sense the man was gauging whether his apology had been sufficient. ‘Don’t worry about it.
Just tell me what we’re dealing with.’

‘Neighbor called it in an hour ago. Name’s Elizabeth Connor, apartment 2C in back. Fifty-nine years old. Lived here for the last fifteen years. No one’s seen her for a few
days. They noticed the smell yesterday. Super showed up with a key this morning. Other than him, no one’s been inside. I took a look, just to secure the place, but I didn’t touch
nothing. I told people in the other apartments to stay put until we get to them. Told ’em we might need to talk to them.’

Long nodded. ‘What’s it look like?’

‘Looks messy. Lots of blood. Nothing you haven’t seen before. Some sign of a struggle, but not much. Looks like it was on and over pretty quick.’

‘Okay. Crime scene and backup should be here in a minute. Other than them, no one comes up, got it?’

‘Yeah, all right.’

Long looked at the crowd on the nearby stoops. ‘Once they get here, start gathering statements from these people out here. Doers sometimes like to hang out and observe the scene. If they
don’t have anything to say, at least get their names and contacts. Get a look at their licenses where possible, just to make sure you’re not getting fake information. Tell them we may
need to come back to them. Someone might’a seen something.’

‘You think so?’

‘In this neighborhood? No. Not really.’

‘Okay. You going in?’

Long nodded. ‘Might as well. I’m here, and I got nothing better to do.’

Reggie Hill arrived on time for the baby’s noon feeding. Finn had no idea what qualified Reggie to take care of Lissa’s son, but he seemed to do a good job, and
Lissa depended on him. Outfitted like a sherpa to the armies of Hannibal, he blew through the door with three bags slung across his shoulder, an infant car seat hanging from the crook in his other
arm. Finn marveled at his balance.

Lissa stood and took the baby in the car seat from him. ‘How was he this morning?’ she asked. She’d taken two weeks off after giving birth; there was never any question that
she would come back to work. She was a caring parent, but not the stay-at-home type. Finn suspected that she and the baby would bond better with her at the office much of the day. She set the car
seat down, and pulled the baby out. He was sleeping, and she put him over her shoulder, rubbing his back.

‘He was a doll,’ Reggie replied, setting the bags down on the floor. ‘Always is. I swear, you could pull teeth if he had any and he wouldn’t complain.’

‘He takes after his father,’ Lissa said.

‘God forbid,’ Reggie said. He shuddered. ‘Let’s aim higher than that, shall we?’

‘Koz hears you talking like that, he’ll fire you, Reggie,’ Finn said.

‘He wouldn’t,’ Reggie said. He sat in one of the leather chairs against the wall and crossed his legs above the knees. ‘He secretly wants me. Most men do.’

Finn shook his head. ‘He hears you talking like that, he won’t fire you, he’ll shoot you.’

Lissa chuckled.

Reggie said, clucking his tongue, ‘Anyone that repressed is hiding something.’

‘Trust me,’ Lissa said, ‘he’s not repressed.’

‘Maybe he’s hiding his hatred of stereotypes,’ Finn said.

‘No, you di’ent!’ Reggie falsettoed. ‘I know you did not just call me a cliché.’

Finn smiled amiably. ‘I think I did.’

Reggie reached down to a mahogany magazine rack and pulled out a newspaper, shaking it open with a loud flap. ‘Lissa Krantz, I love this child, but if you think I’m going to take
this sort of abuse for the pittance you pay me, you are sadly mistaken. I demand that you defend me.’

The baby was stirring. ‘Apologize to Reggie, Finn,’ Lissa said. ‘Or I’ll cut your balls off.’

‘You wouldn’t. I’d sue.’

‘Fine, then I’ll quit, and you can run this place on your own.’

Even in jest the thought made Finn’s heart rate double. ‘I’m sorry, Reggie,’ he said. ‘You are a beacon of masculinity in an insecure world.’

‘Like you’d know.’ Reggie folded the newspaper and put it back into the magazine rack. ‘I’m going to Starbucks to get something to soothe my wounded pride. Anyone
want anything?’

‘I’ll have a venti-non-fat-decaf-latte-skim-three-Equals,’ Lissa said.

‘Finn?’ Reggie asked.

‘Do they have coffee?’

‘Heathen.’

‘Skip it.’

Reggie opened the door and stepped out.

‘Don’t start,’ Lissa said to Finn once the door had closed behind Reggie. ‘He’s got his quirks, but he takes fantastic care of Andrew. I’d be lost without
him.’

‘What? I didn’t say anything, did I? I like the guy. And I’m pretty sure he’s right; Koz has got a huge crush on him.’

‘Funny.’ The baby was fully awake now, and he started to grump hungrily. Lissa maneuvered him around so that his feet were on her knees, his nose to hers. ‘Uncle Finn likes to
take his life into his own hands, doesn’t he, Andrew?’ she cooed. ‘Yes, he does.’ She put him into his car seat and began rummaging through the array of baby bags, looking
for a bottle. ‘Speaking of taking your life into your own hands, are we really gonna represent the McDougal kid?’

‘We’ll talk to him.’

‘There’s a difference?’

‘Maybe he won’t like what we have to say, and we’ll get out of it that way. You never know.’

‘Yes, I do. And so do you.’

The door opened and both of them turned. The man standing there looked like something out of the imagination of Stephen King. He was in his fifties, with a thick head of grayish-brown,
disheveled hair. His clothes were rumpled and stained. His face was dirty, though not enough to obscure the long, deep, jagged scar running from the corner of his eye down to just below his ear. He
was solid and stocky, and he held a piece of grease-stained computer printout above his head. ‘I got it!’

‘Hi, hon, how was your evening?’ Finn said.

‘Fuck off.’

‘Koz!’ Lissa said sharply. She tilted her head. ‘The baby!’

‘Sorry, I didn’t know he was here.’

She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘It’s okay.’ She crinkled her nose. ‘You smell.’

‘That’s because I’ve been crawling around in garbage.’

‘Everyone needs a hobby,’ Finn said.

‘Yeah, everyone does,’ Tom Kozlowski replied. ‘Mine is saving your ass. I spent the night watching Spencer’s apartment, waiting to see how he would react to his
partner’s arrest.’ Finn’s interest was piqued. Will Spencer was the business partner of Carlo Manelli, a client who had been arrested for dealing drugs out of the restaurant the
two of them owned. The case against Manelli looked solid.