Next of Kin (30 page)

‘I almost feel bad for the kid,’ Julie said.

‘Me too,’ Long said. ‘I told him to relax, I wasn’t there about the pot. I didn’t even care about it, as long he told me the truth about his job and his campaign
contributions.’

‘And he did?’

Long nodded. ‘I don’t think he has any idea that there’s anything illegal about it. He said McDougal told everyone at the garage to write a check for twenty-four hundred to
Buchanan’s campaign. That week, everyone got an envelope with the same amount with their paycheck. He never asked why. He didn’t even know there were campaign contribution limits; he
just figured they wanted it to look like lots of people were supporting Buchanan, instead of just a few heavy hitters. Even after I left, I don’t think he had any idea how badly he screwed
McDougal.’

‘He did, though, didn’t he? He’s screwed him?’

Long nodded. ‘It’s a felony. Your average Joe could get up to two years, but with a background like McDougal’s, it could go to four. They’ve put lots of people away for
it.’

‘So he could really go away just for giving money to a senator?’

‘Hey, they put Capone away for tax evasion. Whatever you can get one of these guys on, that’s what you get them on. The only thing anyone cares about is getting them off the
streets.’

‘It won’t help Buchanan’s political career at all, either.’

Long said, ‘Clearly. Something like this breaks in the last few weeks before the election and at a minimum he loses his bid for reelection. At worst, he’s sitting in the cell next to
McDougal for a year to eighteen months.’

‘Elizabeth Connor knew what was going on. You think she decided to see what she could get out of it?’

‘It’s possible,’ Long said. ‘Any way you look at it, it’s a good motive for either one of them to have her killed.’

‘I know the truth,’ Finn said to Buchanan.

His heart was beating so hard he thought his chest might explode. He’d spent the first thirteen years of his life in orphanages and in foster homes, living under the constant threat of
catching a beating or worse. He’d spent the next seven years on the streets, running with people who would stab you in the heart just to break the monotony of a dull day. Even as a lawyer,
he’d had his nose far enough into the wrong people’s business that his life had been threatened, a few times so directly he’d found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.
Through all of that, though, he’d never known a fear comparable to the one that pounded in his chest now. Looking at the man who gave him life more than four decades ago and then walked away
without ever looking back, there was no way to describe the range of emotions he was feeling. For whatever reason, fear predominated.

‘What truth do you know?’ Buchanan asked. He walked slowly over to the sink, passing within a foot of where Finn was standing. Close enough for Finn to touch him. Buchanan pulled a
Tiffany glass from the cabinet and filled it from the small spout on the side of the sink that delivered chilled spring water. ‘What is it you think you’ve discovered, Mr
Finn?’

‘You killed her.’

Buchanan shook his head. ‘You’re mistaken. I killed no one. What would even put such an idea in your head? Have you been talking to Detective Long? He has all sorts of strange
notions.’

Buchanan was calm. So calm it fueled the rage in Finn’s heart. ‘No,’ Finn said. ‘I’ve been talking to Eamonn McDougal.’

Buchanan was taking a sip of his water, and Finn could see him hesitate, the glass at his lips, pausing as he swallowed hard. Finn could tell that he was beginning to chip away at the
façade, beginning to tear down the protective barrier that had surrounded the man his entire life. It felt so good. ‘He’s a client of mine.’ Finn was going to take his
time.

Buchanan said nothing for a moment. Then he picked up his glass and tipped it toward Finn, gave a weak smile, and said, ‘Congratulations, I’m sure he keeps you busy.’

‘He does,’ Finn replied. ‘And I keep his people out of prison. I kept his son out of prison. That means he owes me.’

‘Does he? And how does he propose to repay that debt?’

‘He’s done it already,’ Finn said. ‘He gave me what I needed.’

‘What did you need?’

‘I needed answers. I needed to know why the mother I never knew was murdered. He told me. He told me you did it.’

Buchanan smirked, but sweat beaded on his forehead. ‘He repaid you in false currency. I did nothing. Mr McDougal and I have known each other for a number of years. He’s been a
supporter, as have many of his employees. None of that has anything to do with that woman’s death, as far as I know. In any event, I had no involvement whatsoever. I will not allow Eamonn
McDougal to drag me into his gutter, do you understand?’

‘I understand,’ Finn said. ‘You’d never let someone drag you off your perch, would you?’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ Buchanan said. ‘This notion that I killed anyone is simply absurd. Why would I? What possible benefit could come from it for me?’

‘She was blackmailing you,’ Finn said.

‘With what?’ Buchanan demanded. ‘What information did this woman have that would give her any ability to blackmail me?’

Finn leveled his glare at the man standing in front of him, his jaw set tight as he said the words, ‘She was blackmailing you with the fact that you are my father.’

Buchanan looked like he’d been hit in the chest with a nine-iron. His eyes went wide and his mouth hung open, bobbing slightly as though he were searching for words or oxygen or both.

Finn continued, ‘That’s the truth I know.’

‘Get out.’ The words came from Buchanan in a whisper. His lips were quivering, and he was ashen, but the sound of his own voice seemed to inject some resolve. ‘Now!’ he
said. ‘I want you out of this house right now!’ he yelled.

Finn nodded at him. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. He walked toward the kitchen doorway, headed to the front of the house. Before he left the room, though, he turned. ‘I know what I
know,’ he said. ‘I’m going to prove it.’

Coale was sitting in his car up the street from Buchanan’s mansion when Finn came out. He looked determined as he walked to his convertible, never glancing back at the
senator’s house. Coale gripped the wheel. The fact that the lawyer was getting this close was a problem. It put all of Coale’s planning in jeopardy.

Finn pulled out, and Coale hesitated. There were too many moving pieces at this point – too many ways to approach the problem. After mulling it over for a few moments, though, Coale came
to see that the lawyer was at the center of it all. He was the key, and the only way to keep control was to keep the lawyer in his sights.

He started the car and pulled out after Finn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

‘What now?’ Kozlowski asked.

Finn shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ The four of them were in Finn’s apartment in Charlestown. Finn was sitting on the sofa, his chin in his chest. Kozlowski sat on a stool at
the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. Lissa and Sally sat on chairs across the room from Finn. No one knew what to say.

‘I let him know this wasn’t over,’ Finn said. ‘Maybe I lied.’

‘You didn’t lie,’ Lissa said. ‘It isn’t over.’

‘It isn’t? What do you suggest I do? All I have is the word of Eamonn McDougal that’s he’s my father. That’s not enough to do anything no matter what I
believe
. Let’s assume I even want to push this –’

‘Are you saying you don’t?’ Lissa demanded.

‘I’m saying, like it or not, I’m living a fucking Greek tragedy here, and my options aren’t as simple as they might seem.’

‘I know,’ Lissa said. ‘But you can’t let him get away with it. He murdered your mother.’

‘Again,’ Finn said, ‘all I have is Eamonn McDougal’s word on that. I don’t have anything else, and it’s not like Eamonn’s gonna testify.’

‘Buchanan had a pretty strong motive,’ Lissa pointed out. ‘If he’s really your father can you imagine what that news would do to him politically?’

Finn shook his head. ‘We can’t prove it.’

‘There must be a way,’ Lisa said.

‘DNA?’ Sally offered.

‘We’d never get it. We’d need a warrant, and no prosecutor in his right mind would ask a judge for a warrant to take a senator’s blood without some other
evidence.’

‘What about your adoption file?’ Kozlowski asked. ‘There may be something in that.’

‘There may be,’ Finn agreed. ‘The head of the agency hasn’t gotten back to me. She was supposed to call me this morning – we were going to meet tonight, but she was
out sick.’

‘So call her,’ Kozlowski said.

‘I’ll call her in the morning,’ Finn agreed.

‘The morning?’ Kozlowski let out a low whistle. ‘You’re gonna let this all slip away, aren’t you? You really want to find out what this is all about, you need to
get on the phone now.’

‘All I have is her work number.’

‘Judas frickin’ Priest, you’ve got her name. You know where she lives. You really need to have a private detective in your apartment to tell you how to get her
number?’

Finn looked at the three people in his apartment; the only three people in his life who really mattered to him. Each one of them was nodding at him. It was Sally who spoke. ‘You need to do
this,’ she said.

Finn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and walked over to the counter to pick up the phone.

Janet Washburn had arrived at the New Hampshire Health Services Center two years before, at the age of twenty-three, looking like a lost puppy. In the previous two months she
had broken up with her boyfriend, lost her job, and relocated to a new state. She wasn’t close to her family, and she knew virtually no one. She went into the Center to get birth control
pills. She had no immediate prospects for a relationship, but she was so lonely she knew she was vulnerable to even the slightest male attention. She understood herself well enough to realize that
she had little willpower, and she didn’t want to deal with the unwanted consequences of an inevitable bad decision.

Her fifteen-minute appointment turned into a two-hour heart-to-heart with one of the case workers, filled with tears and regret. She left that day without birth control, but with a new job and a
new cause to serve. As it turned out, she was an organizational dynamo, and the Center needed someone to help organize the adoption services section. She had been working as an assistant to Shelly
Tesco ever since. Shelly had become more of a surrogate mother than a boss to her, and there hadn’t been a weekday in two years when they hadn’t talked.

Until today.

After work, Janet used the extra key Shelly had given her to open the house. She’d rung the doorbell several times, but there had been no response. Worried, she decided she needed to see
whether there was anything wrong.

She opened the door slowly. ‘Shelly?’ she called out. There was no response.

The house had a classic Cape layout with three bedrooms upstairs and a quartered floor plan on the ground floor – living room, dining room, family room, and kitchen set out in nearly even
proportion. It didn’t take her long to explore the downstairs, and there seemed nothing out of order. She half expected to find Shelly’s lifeless body, dead of a heart attack at too
young an age; she was relieved, at least, that wasn’t the case.

She crept upstairs. ‘Shelly?’ The house was silent. The sun was down, and it was a moonless night, so no light filtered in from outside. She turned lights on as she went.

The first two rooms at the top of the stairs were guest rooms. One had been converted to an office. She stuck her head into one and then the other. Looking around carefully, she could discern
nothing out of place. Perhaps Shelly had simply been called away on some sort of family emergency. It was unlike her not to check in, and she had no family Janet knew of, but anything was
possible.

By the time Janet reached Shelly’s master bedroom, she’d opened her heart not just to hope, but to optimism. That optimism vanished as soon as she pushed open the door to the
bedroom.

The place was a mess. The bed was askew, two chairs were overturned, and the sheets were rent from the mattress in an apparent display of panic and violence. The closet and the drawers were
open, and clothes were strewn about the room. The floor was littered with papers and personal belongings. It looked as though a fight for survival had taken place in the room, and Janet felt her
stomach churn just looking at the mess.

She stumbled around for a moment, feeling disoriented, trying to fathom the implications. As she made her way unsteadily into the room, her eyes came to rest on a dark shape on the center of the
mattress. It looked at first like a giant spider, resting malevolently in the middle of chaos’ remnants, pleased with whatever evil had visited the place. As she looked closer, though, she
realized that it wasn’t living; it was a stain. It was crimson, with its tendrils grasping in desperation. It took another moment for her to realize that she was looking down at a single
bloody handprint.

She screamed, and as she did the phone next to the bed rang. She whirled around and knocked it to the floor. It continued to ring, and she approached it with dread, picked it up and held the
handset to her ear. ‘H-Hello?’ she stammered.

‘Ms Tesco,’ a male voice said. ‘It’s Scott Finn.’

‘It’s . . . it’s not Shelly,’ Janet said. It all felt like a dream now. ‘It’s her assistant, Janet.’

‘Oh, I thought I dialed her house.’

‘I have to go,’ she said, her panic growing.

‘Wait,’ the man said. ‘You and I spoke earlier this morning. I was calling to follow up with Ms Tesco about our meeting. Is she there?’

‘No, she’s not. I have to go. I have to call the police.’

‘The police? Why?’

‘Because I think Shelly’s in trouble.’ As she said the words, Janet began to cry. It started as a gasp and a few tears, but within seconds it had turned into shocked wails as
the enormity of what had happened in the bedroom washed over her and she gasped for breath.

The voice was shouting into her ear. She could hear it, but it took a moment for her to be able to process it. ‘Talk to me!’ the voice was saying. ‘Tell me what
happened!’