Next of Kin (23 page)

They’d been in the same spot for more than an hour, dressed in dark clothes, watching. They’d dropped Sally off at Lissa’s apartment at four-thirty, and gone back to change at
the office. Finn had told Sally that they needed to keep a client’s wife under surveillance for the night. She’d simply nodded and said, ‘Okay.’

At five-thirty, Janice, McDougal’s secretary, pulled out of the parking lot in her bright white Camero. McDougal followed soon after, climbing into the back of his waiting Cadillac. It had
been twenty minutes since they’d departed, and there’d been no further activity in the parking lot. Finn would have been tempted to move in by now, but Kozlowski said to wait. When
asked why, Koz responded, ‘Because.’ He’d never been much of a conversationalist.

Now Kozlowski looked at Finn. ‘I’m going to do a little reconnaissance,’ he said. ‘Stay here for a minute.’

‘You’re not going in without me.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Kozlowski agreed. ‘But I want to have an idea what we are dealing with before we go for real. Then I’ll come back and we can make a plan.’

‘Fine,’ Finn said. ‘But if you go in without me, I’m gonna kick your ass.’

‘Right.’ Kozlowski didn’t seem intimidated. ‘I’ll be back.’ He slipped away, walking close to the building with his shoulders hunched over. He had on a black
watchman’s cap. He would be difficult to notice in the dark, and if he was spotted, he would look like a longshoreman completely at ease in the environment. He’d attract little
attention.

He was gone for five minutes that seemed more like fifty to Finn. When he returned he was frowning. ‘There’s good news and bad news,’ he said.

‘Gimme the good news first.’

‘They’ve got a sophisticated alarm system.’

‘That’s the good news?’

‘Yeah. It’s sophisticated, but old. I was trained on it when I was on the force and I’m pretty sure I can disable it.’

Finn nodded. ‘That is good news. What’s the bad news?’

‘I don’t think I can get us through the front door. I’m pretty good with my fingers, but the locks they’ve got on it are monsters. I won’t get through
them.’

‘Crap,’ Finn said. ‘You’re gonna give it a try, though, right?’

‘If I need to,’ Kozlowski said. ‘There’s a back door that looks a little more reasonable. That’s the other good news. We’ll start there.’

‘Now?’

Kozlowski nodded. ‘Now.’

They headed out along the building, in the same direction from which Kozlowski had just come.

The meeting was set for six-thirty. Long arrived early, Captain Townsend in tow. He felt like a child bringing his father to the principal’s office, but he understood it
was the only way he was going to stay in charge of the case.

Long had instructed Buchanan to show up at the station house – this was a murder investigation, after all. That mandate was quickly rejected, which caused Long to resort to threats. As it
turned out, United States senators are relatively impervious to threats from local law enforcement officers. Long was informed that if the police wished to talk with Buchanan, he would make himself
available for the half hour between six-thirty and seven at his lawyer’s office. There would be no negotiation on the matter, and the senator would leave as soon as the clock struck seven.
Long didn’t like taking orders from suspects, but there was little he could do about it. Captain Townsend told him to be grateful. He also told him that the two of them would be going to the
meeting together.

The lawyer’s office was in the heart of the financial district, in a tower of pink marble, steel and glass. To get into the building, Long and Townsend had to stop at the front desk, where
their credentials were checked and they were issued a building pass. The process made Long feel as though the proper order of the universe had been flipped, and the police were the ones under
suspicion.

Up in the law firm’s reception area, they were kept waiting for another ten minutes, looking out from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows onto a view that made plain how important the
attorneys at the firm were. Townsend’s face acknowledged how impressive it was. Long looked away.

Finally they were led into a conference room with a similarly stunning view out of a different side of the building. Buchanan was already there, along with a stout, balding man in his fifties in
a dark suit and bright blue tie. The second man stood, breathing heavily as he lifted his bulk off the chair. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘My name is Spencer Carleson. I represent the
senator.’ Buchanan didn’t bother standing, and no one shook hands. ‘Sit,’ Carleson ordered. ‘It’s my understanding that you’d like to talk to the senator
with respect to a murder investigation?’

‘That’s right,’ Long said. ‘We –’

Carleson cut him off. ‘The senator is, of course, more than happy to cooperate in any way he can with the police. There are some ground rules, however.’

Long looked at Townsend. ‘Ground rules?’

‘I’m sure you understand the politically sensitive nature of this discussion,’ Carleson said. ‘Senator Buchanan is in the middle of a reelection campaign that has less
than a month to go. If word of the senator’s connection to this matter leaked out, it could lead to all sorts of wild speculation. The senator’s opponent would no doubt use it to imply
some sort of wrongdoing. We can’t have that.’

‘We can’t?’ Long said.

‘No,’ Carleson said, with particular emphasis. ‘We can’t.’ He let a beat pass to allow that to settle in. ‘So, here are the ground rules. I will be present
for all the questioning. Anything I believe is inappropriate, I will instruct my client not to answer. The interview will last no longer than a half hour, and when it is over, nothing about this
meeting will be divulged to anyone. Not to the press. Not to others in the department.’

‘We can’t talk to other cops?’ Long was well into a simmer.

‘Once word spreads internally, it would undoubtedly be leaked,’ Carleson said. ‘I will not let this be used for political purposes. Besides, Detective Long, according to my
internal sources, you don’t have many people in the department who are talking to you these days anyway. It’s not as though you have a partner, is it?’

Long came out of his chair. ‘You wait a goddamned minute!’ he yelled.

Townsend remained sitting, but his face had turned crimson. ‘You’re outta line, Carleson,’ he said.

‘I don’t think so,’ Carleson said. ‘I’m not convinced the right man is investigating this case. Certainly if this outburst is any indication, Detective Long may not
have the right temperament to handle such sensitive matters.’

Townsend looked at Long and motioned to him to sit down. Long lowered himself back into the chair, his eyes never leaving Carleson’s, his instinctive distrust for the lawyer growing.
Townsend said, ‘This is Detective Long’s case. He will not be replaced. If you have a problem with that, you will just have to deal with it.’

Carleson pursed his lips. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Do we have an understanding with respect to the ground rules?’

‘Fuck your ground rules,’ Long growled.

Townsend put a hand up to cut him off. ‘We will keep the conversation confidential for now,’ he said. ‘We will not let that confidentiality prevent the full investigation of
this murder, however.’

Carleson nodded again. He looked at Long. ‘Ask your questions, Detective.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was dark when Shelly Tesco got home. She’d been held up at work, explaining the adoption process to a couple who’d recently learned they were infertile. She
could have told them to come back the next day; they walked in just as the office was closing, and she didn’t get paid enough to justify overtime. But she felt like she couldn’t leave
without helping them. It seemed as though she could read the entire range of human emotions on their tired faces, from desperation to hope. She couldn’t just send them away. Besides, it
wasn’t as though she had anything important waiting for her at home.

She noticed the Mercedes parked up around the corner, but paid it little mind. The Shumleys a few houses over had a son who was an investment banker in New York; he was probably visiting and
eager to show off a new toy to his parents. Shelly wouldn’t hear the end of it the next time she ran into Mildred. Bragging about her son’s money had become the woman’s full-time
job, almost as though it made up for all the disappointments in her own life.

Shelly parked her car in the driveway. Soon the real weather would arrive, and she would need to park in the garage. But it wasn’t here yet, and she’d have to put in a full
day’s work clearing out the single-car space to make room. She’d promised herself she would get to it last weekend, but just hadn’t been able to muster the necessary motivation.
Next weekend
, she told herself.
There would always be next weekend.

She opened the back door to the kitchen. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered to lock the place up when she left in the morning. There hadn’t been any real crime in the town in
more than five years. It would be difficult to find a safer place to live. Reaching out, she flipped the light switch and it gave a loud clack, but nothing happened. She flipped it back and forth
three times. ‘Goddamned circuit breakers,’ she muttered to herself.

It had happened before. Too often. Her electrician had told her that she should upgrade her system and replace the board, but she had no money for that. If it meant that she had to venture into
the basement a few times a month to reset the circuits, so be it. It was better than spending money she didn’t have.

She felt her way around the cabinets in the kitchen until she reached her utility drawer and pulled out a flashlight. Pressing the switch and having the beam of light to guide her provided some
comfort. It was silly; she hadn’t been afraid of the dark since she was a small child.

She walked over to the basement door and pulled it open. It was an unfinished space, cold and damp. The darkness was so complete that her flashlight barely penetrated it. She walked slowly down
the ancient wooden steps, each of them creaking under her weight.

The circuit breaker panel was located over in a corner. Even knowing where it was, it took a moment for her to find it. She opened the panel and shone her light on the switches, frowning at what
she saw. Normally, there would be one, maybe two, that had been tripped. Looking at the rows of switches, though, she could see that they were all thrown to the wrong side.

One by one, she flipped the switches back into their proper places. Then she turned to head back up to the kitchen. She swung her flashlight around, searching for the staircase, but it was
blocked. A man in a dark suit was standing in front of her, only a few feet away. She tried to scream, but the shock had winded her, and all that came out was a petrified whimper.

The flashlight found his legs first, and as she raised it up his body. She saw the knife next, dangling casually from his hand. Finally, the light reached his face. He had neat gray hair,
penetrating eyes, and a light scar on his forehead. Under different circumstances, she would have found him attractive, but her terror had overwhelmed her senses.

He stepped toward her, the knife raised slightly. ‘I need to know about the file,’ he said.

Finn watched as Kozlowski worked. They were standing at the back of the building down in Chelsea. A small flashlight was held between Kozlowski’s teeth, aimed at the
alarm keypad next to the door. With a small screwdriver he was removing the faceplate. Once the screws were out, he pulled the plastic off, careful not to separate any of the wires that clung to
the keypad.

‘They taught you this on the force?’ Finn asked.

Kozlowski grunted. The flashlight prevented him from speaking, though Finn guessed he wouldn’t have answered the question anyway.

Kozlowski pulled a small pair of wire clippers out of his pocket, and Finn watched as he counted the number of wires coming off the computer board. In the movies, the wires were all different
colors. Apparently the movies weren’t always right, because all the wires on the keypad were black.

Kozlowski counted them down, then paused between the third and the fourth wires. He moved the clippers back and forth between the two of them for a moment, looked behind him at Finn and raised
his eyebrows.

‘Don’t look at me,’ Finn said.

Kozlowski turned back to the keypad. The clippers zeroed in on the third wire. Then at the last moment, they moved down to the fourth, and cut the wire. Finn closed his eyes, waiting for the
scream of the alarm. It didn’t come. After a moment he opened his eyes again. Kozlowski looked satisfied. He was packing up his wire clippers and pulling out his lock pick. The flashlight was
still in his mouth. He started working on the lock.

‘Wait,’ Finn said, holding up his hand.

‘What?’

Finn cocked his head, listening intently. ‘What was that?’

‘What was what?’

The sound came again, a faint scrape against the steel siding around the corner of the building. ‘That,’ Finn said. ‘What was that?’

Kozlowski had clearly heard the sound; he crouched as he slipped his lock-pick kit into his pocket and pulled out his gun. ‘Stay here,’ he said.

‘Bullshit,’ Finn replied. Kozlowski ignored him as he set out to find the source of the noise. He moved back along the building, his gun pointed into the darkness. As he rounded the
corner, he saw movement in the shadows and his gun tracked it. ‘Don’t move,’ he said, his finger tightening on the trigger.

‘How well did you know Elizabeth Connor?’ Long asked Buchanan.

James Buchanan glanced at his lawyer, who gave a permissive nod. ‘I didn’t,’ Buchanan said.

‘She was a donor to your campaign,’ Long said.

‘As I told you the last time we spoke, I have many donors,’ Buchanan said. ‘There is simply no way I could know all of them.’

‘All of them don’t give the maximum contribution.’

‘That’s true. But many do, and even for them there is no way I can personally keep track.’ Buchanan’s expression never changed as he answered Long’s questions. If
he was lying, he’d been well coached. Long had to find a way to break his confidence.