F
INN WAS SO RELIEVED
to have proved his point to Flaherty about the governor that he almost forgot where he was. The two of them walked out of Natalie’s office and were almost run over by Preston Holland and Nick Williams, who were hurrying down the hallway in front of Natalie’s door.
“Preston!” Finn exclaimed in surprise and embarrassment.
“Finn,” Holland replied in kind. Then he turned and regarded Flaherty admiringly. Finn also noticed Nick looking Flaherty up and down with a remarkable lack of subtlety.
“Preston, I think you’ve met Lieutenant Flaherty, haven’t you?” Finn asked, remembering it had been Holland who had directed Flaherty to him in the first place. “And this is Nick Williams,” he said to Flaherty, “another one of the firm’s partners.”
Holland’s approving assessment of Flaherty turned more respectful with the realization that she was the police officer he’d talked to before.
“Ah, yes, Ms. Flaherty, it’s good to see you again,” Holland said. “I believe congratulations are in order. I understand you caught Natalie’s killer. I can’t tell you how relieved we all are here. It will be a pleasure to see justice carried out in this case.”
“Great detective work,” Williams added ingratiatingly; he was still leering.
“Thank you,” she replied to both men. “There are, obviously, a few loose ends we’re trying to tie up, and Mr. Finn has been very helpful in that regard. We’re appreciative.”
“Yes, Mr. Finn is one of our best people,” Holland said. “If he’s helping you, I’m sure you’ll be provided with whatever you need.” The four of them stood in the narrow hallway looking at one another in awkward silence until it became unbearable. Then Holland said, “Well, we should let you get on your way, I know you’ve got a lot to do. It was a pleasure seeing you again, and good luck with whatever remains of your investigation.”
“Thank you,” Flaherty said. “Yes, I should be going.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Finn said, nodding.
“When you’re done with that, stop by my office, please,” Holland ordered Finn. “I need to talk to you about the Tannery matter.”
“No problem,” Finn replied. Then he and Flaherty headed down the corridor toward the elevator banks as Holland and Williams continued in the other direction.
“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble back there,” Flaherty said as they waited for the elevator to arrive.
“Compared to being accused of murder, any work issues I have are beginning to seem minor.”
“I never accused you of murder, Finn, but we do have to run down every lead on this case, and you’re still the person who seems to have had the most direct contact with the victim.”
“Fine, but you’re going to check out Governor Clarke now, too, right?”
“We’ll run down everyone on your list, but we have to do it carefully. These aren’t the kind of men who’ll allow themselves to be hauled down to the police station on minimal suspicion, you know?”
In contrast to me
, he thought.
As the elevator doors closed on Linda, he stood quietly alone in the vestibule trying to understand his new situation. He remained a suspect. Flaherty didn’t seem happy about it, but that didn’t change the fact. More than that, if he couldn’t find someone to provide him with an alibi, he would undoubtedly remain the primary suspect. Finding someone to corroborate his version of where he was when Natalie was killed was going to be difficult, since after several hours of bar-hopping that night he’d gone home and put the covers over his head until well into the next morning. Perhaps he should do a little investigating on his own. He wasn’t sure he could trust the police to clear his name.
“What was that all about?” Preston Holland asked back in his office.
“She was just getting some background info on Natalie. No big deal.”
“I wouldn’t have thought there’d be much left to investigate. Didn’t they catch the man as he was killing another girl?”
Finn acted nonchalant. “Yeah, well, there’s still the sentencing. They’re probably preparing a history on each victim.” He was tempted to ask Holland for his advice, but he worried about preserving Preston’s image of him. “What did you want to see me about?” he asked, changing the subject.
“We’re deposing Amy Tannery in a few days,” Preston replied.
“Yes, I know. I’ve been working up an outline for you to follow in the deposition.”
“Good, but I won’t have to follow it. I want
you
to take her deposition instead of me.”
Finn was shocked. He’d taken hundreds of depositions before, but never one of the primary witnesses in a case this big. “Really?” he asked. “I’d love to do it,” he added quickly, “but why?”
“I don’t want her to be familiar with me or my style when I cross-examine her at trial. I’ll sit in on the beginning of the deposition to get a feel for her, but this way she won’t be comfortable when we square off.”
“Why not have Nick Williams take it?”
“Nick is a remarkably intelligent analyst, and a fine lawyer,” Preston explained. “But for this task we need someone with trial instincts, and I think yours may be better than his. Besides, he’s working through the documents. His time is better spent there.”
Finn was flattered, and nodded quickly. “Okay, I’ll do it.” For a moment, he forgot his troubles. This was the kind of opportunity he lived for, and he intended to make the most of it.
Holland must have noticed Finn’s thoughts drifting because his voice suddenly took on a hint of paternal concern. “I know the last few weeks have been very hard on you, Finn. I know you and Natalie were close.” He paused and held his subordinate’s eyes. “If this case is too much for you to handle right now, just let me know. But if you’re going to stay on it, I need your mind here, now. We’re in the home stretch, and I can’t do this alone. I need to know you’re one hundred percent committed. Otherwise …”
“I’m committed, Preston,” Finn said. “You’ve got me one hundred and
fifty
percent on this, and I won’t let you down.”
“Good.” Preston seemed satisfied. “Now clear out of here and let me get back to work.”
Finn closed Holland’s door behind him as he walked out. He was glad to give the case all of his time and effort. This was the kind of legal defense that made legends, and if he handled it right, he’d be a partner by the time it was over. Then he might be able to relax a little. He’d worked so hard for so long that he was determined not to screw this up. But to dive into the case fully, he needed to clear his mind of distractions. And to do that, he still needed to take care of some unfinished business.
W
EIDEL’S BLOOD PRESSURE WAS
hitting a new high, Flaherty thought as she sat in his office. The captain had called in her and Kozlowski for an update on the Little Jack case assuming he’d be told that the police portion of the investigation was winding down and the District Attorney’s office was taking over. For nearly two weeks, he’d been in what passed for a “good mood.” From the look on his face, that mood had reached its end.
He sat at his desk with his fists pressed into his forehead, his elbows resting on a stack of overdue paperwork, looking at the two detectives. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Tell me I’m not hearing this,” he seethed.
“I know,” Flaherty said. “We’re disappointed, too.” She hoped to make him an ally through commiseration, making it clear that much of the load was going to be borne by the two detectives.
“Don’t you give me that shit, Lieutenant. You take the biggest arrest we’ve had in this department in two decades and throw it away, and then tell me you’re ‘disappointed’?”
“Now, Captain, we haven’t thrown away the arrest. We’ve still got seven good murder charges on Townsend. He’s not going to walk on those,” Kozlowski pointed out. “It’s just that it doesn’t look like he’s our guy in the Caldwell murder.”
“Anything less than a conviction on every single one of these murders—all eight—is going to turn this thing into a public relations disaster,” Weidel blustered. Flaherty could now see the prominent blue veins in his neck and on his forehead pulsing erratically. “I hope I don’t have to remind you about the past perception problems this department has had with the public. This could have helped wipe some of that away.”
“I know, Captain, but what are we supposed to do? We’ve got to follow the evidence, right?” Flaherty pointed out.
“I’ll tell you what you’re supposed to do about it, you’re supposed to get out of here and do your jobs. Find something—anything—that will make the Caldwell murder stick to this Townsend asshole. It shouldn’t take much, given the similarities in MO.” Weidel looked straight at Kozlowski. “Search his house again. I’m sure you can find something—a shoe, a watch, some underwear—something that once belonged to Caldwell. You just have to look hard enough.”
“You’re not suggesting what I think you are, are you, Captain?” Kozlowski asked.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m merely pointing out that this Townsend guy is our killer. He’s our only killer. As a result, there must be some evidence tying him to the Caldwell case. I want you to find it!” Weidel looked at Flaherty. “I’m also pointing out that some of the people on this investigation have had their faces plastered all over the television and newspapers bragging about what a bang-up job we did. Those people are going to have an awful lot of egg to wipe off if they go back on the air and have to explain that we got it wrong.”
Flaherty and Kozlowski shared a look.
“This guy is our killer,” Weidel repeated. “So let’s make it happen.” He was finished talking, and he looked at the two detectives, waiting for confirmation that they’d carry out his directions.
“What about that list?” Flaherty asked, pointing to a copy of the list Finn had given her, which was sitting on Weidel’s desk.
“This list?” Weidel said, picking it up and waving it around his head. “This list is a fucking fantasy.” He began tearing the paper into little pieces. “It’s a joke, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Did you seriously think I was going to let you interrogate the most powerful law enforcement people in the state and start throwing around allegations? You’ve got to be insane, Lieutenant. I mean, Jesus H. Fucking Christ! Imagine if the press got ahold of that. What a nice headline that would make: ‘Governor, U.S. Attorney Questioned in Little Jack Murders.’ Trust me, that’s not going to happen. Not while I’m in charge.”
“So you want us to drop this?” Flaherty asked.
“Drop what? There’s nothing to drop. And you better make damned sure this asshole Finn knows we’re not buying into his bullshit. If I ever hear one word about this list from anyone, I’m going to assume he’s been shooting his mouth off, and I’ll nail his lawyer ass to the wall. If we were going after anyone in this case, it would be him. You better make sure he knows that.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure he knows. But just so we’re clear, this is still my investigation, right?” Flaherty asked.
Weidel fumed. “You’re pressing your luck, Flaherty. You know that, don’t you? You’ve been hanging around this jackass for too long”—Weidel nodded at Kozlowski—“and he’s been hanging around this department for too long. You’re risking your career here.”
“It’s my investigation or it isn’t, Captain,” said Flaherty, holding her ground. “Which is it?”
Weidel threw up his hands. “It’s yours. You do with it what you want.” He shook his head. “But don’t expect any cover if you start hurling accusations at our friends in law enforcement. The first time you get in a public official’s face is the last time you’ll have my support.”
“Fair enough,” Flaherty said, and walked out of the office.
Kozlowski lingered for a moment, taking a piece of Nicorette gum out of his pocket and popping it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “It’s good to see we’re all on the same team, Captain,” he said.
“Kozlowski, you’ve never been on my team.”
F
INN LOOKED AROUND HIS OFFICE
, rubbing his temples as he felt a migraine spread. Documents from the Tannery case were stacked throughout the small space, some in folders, some in neat stacks, and some in splayed piles that had lost any pretense of organization—all awaiting his review and analysis. He wondered how he’d get through them all. Normally, the scale of the task before him would be of little concern. Through the years at Howery, Black, he’d acquired the stamina necessary to climb any documentary mountain, no matter how daunting. Today, however, he needed to be out of the office for a few hours, and for the first time in his career he worried whether the work would actually get done. He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids, desperate for relief.
When he opened them again, he saw Nick Williams over a stack of exhibits, standing in his doorway. Finn returned the smile and wagged his head back and forth as though shaking off a daze. This seemed to have become a routine of theirs. At least once a day, Williams stopped by to shoot the breeze while he took a break from his own tedium. Finn didn’t mind. In fact, he usually welcomed the distraction, having discovered that Nick was far more engaging than he’d first thought. Nevertheless, at that moment he didn’t have the time to spare. “Sorry, Nick, I’ve got too much going on,” he said, trying to wave him away.
“That bad?” Williams asked, moving a group of folders and collapsing into a chair.
“That bad,” Finn said, nodding. He waited for Nick to get up, but his colleague leaned back his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Seriously, Nick, I’m swamped and I’ve got to get through this stuff.”
“Hey, try not to bitch so much, huh?” Williams joked. “I got in at six this morning, and I’ve spent the last three hours staring at a pile of documents taller than most of the Celtics. It seems like the more I read, the bigger the pile becomes. It’s as though I’m starring in someone’s sadistic Greek myth.”
“Sisyphus goes to law school?”
“Something like that. And if that weren’t enough, I’m supposed to babysit you, make sure you’re not fucking anything up.”
That got Finn’s attention. “Preston’s nervous?”
“Well, the widow’s deposition is a key piece of what we’re doing. He just wants to make sure you’re up to it.” Williams paused and inclined his head toward Finn. “
Are
you up to it?”
“Of course I am. The deposition is the least of my worries. I still have to review all of the crap in these files for our witness outlines. That’s what’s got me concerned.”
Williams shrugged. “Hey, these piles look pathetic compared to the document monsters that have taken over my office.”
“What can I say?” Finn said. “You read faster than I do, and you’re better at analyzing this stuff.”
Williams feigned modesty. “Well, it
is
my specialty.” He reached over and pulled three huge folders onto his lap. “What is this anyway?”
Finn looked at the files Williams was thumbing through. “Those are Natalie’s old case files,” he said. “Preston wanted someone to go through them to see if there’s anything we can use.” He rubbed his temples again. “I swear, I don’t know how I’m going to get through all this.” He didn’t mention his appointment later in the day, of course, but it weighed heavily on him.
Williams seemed to be mulling something. “Fine,” he said with mock exasperation. “I’ll add these to my pile.”
Finn looked at him incredulously. “But how can you—”
Williams shrugged. “Like I said, it’s my specialty. And anyway, it’s a drop in the bucket. This way, I can tell Preston that you’re focusing on the deposition.” He got up with the files under his arm.
“Oh man, I owe you big-time,” said Finn. “If there’s anything I can do …”
Williams turned around at the door. “Yeah, there is. Next time I stop by, try not to be such a whiny little prick.” He gave a smile and headed down the corridor.
It was a twenty-mile drive up to the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Concord, and the journey gave Finn some time to think. Living and working in the city, he often went weeks without driving, and it felt good to be behind the wheel. There was an instant feeling of control that he desperately needed at the moment.
He had the top down on his 1974 MG convertible, and the heavy summer air washed back over the windshield and through his thick dark hair, cooling him down. The car had been a gift to himself when he landed the job at Howery, Black. He’d received a modest bonus when he started—just enough to cover his credit card bills, not enough to pay off his student loans—but he’d decided to treat himself to a used car instead. Growing up on the streets of Charlestown, he’d developed an appraiser’s eye for automobiles, the kind of instant evaluation skills that come from constantly weighing the chopshop value of a potential boost against the likelihood of being caught. He’d always been partial to the foreign roadsters that were few and far between down in the area around the shipyards, and the feeling of owning one had been a thrill he still felt whenever he got behind the wheel.
He never really believed he’d be able to get into the prison to see Townsend. His years as a public defender had given him strong contacts within the prison system, but he never thought they’d be enough to get him in to see such a notorious prisoner. On a wing and a prayer he’d called Billy Parker, the judicial administrator in charge of case assignments at the Public Defender’s office.
“Why the hell would you want to defend this guy, Finn?” Billy had asked. “Don’t you have a professional reputation to protect now?”
“Yeah, but I never get into court anymore,” Finn said, laughing. “I’m getting the itch. In all honesty, I’m not sure my firm will let me take this case, but I’d like to give it a try. I figured if I met the guy, I might have some ammunition to convince the partners to let me defend him.”
“I’ll see if I can get you in,” Billy had promised. “It may be tough, but this guy is such a twisted nut I’d take any opportunity to get him off the PD’s plate. No one here wants to deal with him at all.”
Finn had no intention of representing John Townsend, and he knew damned well the firm would never let him take on a case as controversial as this—pro bono to boot. He felt guilty about lying to Billy, but he needed to meet with Townsend, just to see him face-to-face. Finn had spent enough of his life dealing with crooks and deviants and psychopaths, both as a lawyer and in his youth, that he had a pretty good sense of them. Twenty minutes with Townsend should be enough to make a judgment.
Of course, Finn was taking a serious risk with his career. If the partners at Howery, Black discovered what he was doing, there would be hell to pay. He’d survive the fallout, though, he knew. Preston would understand his need to see Townsend. Especially if he explained how much Natalie’s murder was weighing on him and how he was driven to find answers.
Finn was passing through Cambridge now, with Harvard University’s high brick academic buildings dominating the run up the Charles River. Long-haired students in tattered crimson wandered along the sidewalks carrying overstuffed backpacks. Along the river, joggers and Rollerbladers shared the wide path set aside especially for recreation, racing against the rowing shells that slid through the glassy waters, coxswains calling out a tempo to the hard-bodied rowers. This was a world that had always fascinated him, probably more so because it had been so out of his reach. He wondered what his life would have been like if he’d been offered the opportunities available to these fortunate few. He liked to think coming up the hard way had given him a drive other people lacked.
The bolt on the steel door sounded with a crash behind him, and the buzzer rang out twice before someone shouted, “All clear!” from down the cement corridor. Finn had heard these sounds from both sides of the impenetrable bars, and it still sent shivers up his spine when he returned to any prison setting.
He paced the room for five minutes before the buzzer sounded again and he heard the grating sound of metal on metal as the five-hundred-pound deadbolt was pulled back to allow entry.
Townsend entered from the other end of the room, bound in chains at the wrists and ankles. He looked tiny next to the two massive guards who held him by the elbows as he shuffle-stepped to the table in the center of the room. He’d just lowered himself into the wobbly plastic chair when one of the guards nodded at Finn. “You got fifteen minutes,” he said.
Fifteen minutes
, Finn thought.
That should be enough.
Once the guards were gone, he took a seat across from Townsend, who watched him with a calm, detached curiosity. Finn laid a pack of cigarettes on the table.
“Smoke?” he offered.
Townsend shook his head. “I went to medical school for a while,” he said. “Those things will kill you.” He smiled when he said it, clearly amused by the irony.
“Mind if I have one?” Finn asked.
“Suit yourself.”
Finn pulled a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips, taking a lighter out of his pocket and lighting the tip. Smoking was prohibited now throughout most of the building—a deprivation that seemed based more on morality than public health—but interview rooms were an exception.
“Do you know who I am?” Finn asked.
Townsend’s eyes narrowed. “I was told you’re a lawyer who may be representing me.”
“That’s right, my name is Scott Finn, and I’m a lawyer,” Finn said. “But I’m not just any lawyer, I’m your only chance at a fair trial. I work at one of the largest law firms in Boston, and if I take this case, you’ll have the best legal team in the business working for you. I’m here to figure out whether this case is worth our time.” Finn had rehearsed this speech in the car on the way up to the prison, but he still felt a rush of guilt as the lies poured forth. He silently prayed that his visit would never be reported back to the firm. “Because we’re considering representing you, everything you say here to me is privileged. Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes, I do,” said Townsend.
“So you understand that whatever you say to me, I can’t tell the police, and I can’t ever testify against you at trial?”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Finn examined the little man in front of him. His curious smile hadn’t changed since he walked into the room. It gave him an incongruous air of confidence and untouchability. “Then I guess the only question I have for you is, why should I represent you?” Finn was trying to play hard-to-get, to draw Townsend into an attempt to defend his actions.
Townsend picked up the pack of cigarettes still lying on the table. He slid a cigarette out of the pack and began twirling it between his fingers. “Why do people smoke?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard a word Finn had said.
Finn sat back in his chair and shrugged. “I’ve been told it’s because nicotine is addictive, but I think most people who smoke simply like to smoke. The addiction label just gives them an excuse.”
Townsend looked up at Finn, still smiling his inscrutable smile. “I think people smoke because they are full of sin and self-hatred.” The statement came out of his mouth with sympathy rather than self-righteousness.
The notion intrigued Finn. “Why do you say that?”
Townsend cocked his head. “This isn’t the world God intended,” he said. “The world God intended was pure, and bright, and wonderful. We ruined it. Mankind ruined it. God put sin and temptation into the mix, and we fell for it, and that sin and temptation has turned the world dark and
evil.
Mankind wasn’t meant to be sinful, and that’s why people feel guilt—when they do sin. The guilt makes them look for ways to punish themselves. Things like smoking and drinking and fornication, which they know is bad for them.”
Finn took a long drag on his cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs and letting it linger there for a moment or two before opening his mouth and letting it drift out. “It’s an interesting theory,” he said. He took another drag and blew the smoke into Townsend’s face. “Is that why you killed these women—to give them an escape from their sin?”
Townsend shook his head. “I didn’t really know why I killed them at the time. I knew God wanted me to, and I assumed it was their sinfulness that offended him, but I was wrong. He needed me to kill them to make way for the seven angel-warriors of the apocalypse.”
“So you think the apocalypse is going to start any minute now, is that it? It’s a nice try at setting up an insanity defense, but do you really think anyone is going to buy that?”
Townsend smiled again. “That’s okay, Mr. Finn, I’m not trying to sell it. Besides, the apocalypse has already begun.”
“Really?” Finn asked. “Should I go to the window?”
Townsend laughed, and Finn was struck by the self-assurance the tiny man exhibited, as though he were laughing at a child who was still learning to perform the most basic tasks, like walking or talking. “Have you ever read the book of Revelation, Mr. Finn?”
Finn nodded. “Once, a long time ago. I had to read the Bible when …” He didn’t finish the sentence.
I was at the orphanage
—that’s what he was about to say, but he wouldn’t give Townsend the satisfaction.
“It’s the prophecy of the apocalypse,” Townsend continued, “and it foretells the destruction of this flawed world. It describes a long and bloody war between the forces of good and evil, and nearly everyone is destroyed in the end—except the few truly pure.”