“I
S THAT THE LAST NAME?”
“That’s it.” “What’s the total?” Finn was standing behind Bostick, who was seated at a computer terminal in the Howery, Black war room. They’d been there for five hours, and they were both bone-weary and red-eyed. They’d walked into the offices quickly and quietly, with Finn keeping his head down to avoid any scrutiny of his bruises, and they’d been lucky. They hadn’t run into anyone who would have wanted to talk to Finn, and they’d managed to make it to the converted conference room without anyone noticing his appearance.
Now the nerves of both men were frayed from staring at the computer screen, but they’d completed their task, plugging all of the names of Huron’s guards into various search tools and proprietary locator services. There were more than a thousand names in all, and it had been grueling work, but they’d done it—one by one—painstakingly investigating every individual. It was time to see how many of the names were fictitious.
“One hundred and seven,” Bostick replied after a brief pause to tally the numbers.
Finn let out a low, astonished whistle. “One hundred and seven,” he repeated. It was almost inconceivable.
“That’s according to our searches,” Bostick pointed out. “The search engines we used aren’t perfect, although the social security database program that I accessed is pretty good. I would say that all these tools together have at least a ninety-nine percent success rate at locating people.”
“So, any way you look at it, there are at least one hundred guards who don’t exist, who have been getting paid salaries and benefits by Huron, according to our information.”
Bostick nodded. “I’d say that’s about right.”
Finn whistled again. “Holy shit. We’ve stumbled onto some very dangerous information, haven’t we?”
“I’d say so,” Bostick agreed. “I don’t get it, though. They wouldn’t need this many false identities to facilitate a terrorist attack, would they?”
“No, but I don’t think this has anything to do with terrorism. This has to do with money. I don’t think these are false identities—I think these people never existed.”
“But why?” Bostick asked.
“The starting salary for a guard in the Massachusetts Transportation Safety Commission is more than fifty thousand dollars. Multiply that times one hundred, and you have five million dollars. I think this was government fraud, pure and simple. Somebody was pocketing this money. You said before that Huron is connected to some pretty shady people, didn’t you?”
Bostick nodded. “Mob,” he said.
“That makes sense. This kind of government scam is right up the mob’s alley.”
“How could they possibly have thought they’d get away with it, though? Wouldn’t they have known that someone would catch them?”
“Nobody did for more than two years,” Finn pointed out. “If it wasn’t for the Anniversary Bombing, I don’t know that anyone would have ever noticed. The mob has enough control over the unions to keep them quiet, and as long as they’ve got someone involved on the government side, who’s going to report them?”
“Do you really think they could get someone in the government to go along with all this?”
Finn thought for a moment about McGuire’s friendship with Governor Clarke. It had always struck him as odd. Perhaps this explained it. He wasn’t ready to tell Bostick, though. “I think it’s possible,” was all he said.
“I can’t believe we’re the first people to figure all this out.”
We’re not
, Finn thought. Natalie must have discovered what was going on, too. She must have confronted McGuire or Clarke, and that was enough to get her killed. This had nothing to do with her older boyfriend, Finn realized; it was all about the litigation. And now that he knew about it, his life was in danger, too.
Bostick must have been thinking along the same lines, because he turned to Finn and said, “I’m definitely out of this now.”
“I understand,” Finn said. “You’ve already helped enough. Trust me, I’ll keep your name out of all of this if anything comes up in the future. I really appreciate all you’ve done.”
“It’s no problem.” Bostick tapped Finn in the chest with his finger. “You be careful if you’re really going to pursue this. I spent a lot of time on the street when I was a cop, and I know what these people are all about. I’m not sure a high-priced lawyer like you can possibly know what you’re dealing with, here. These people are vicious and brutal. They won’t hesitate to take you out if you’re threatening their money supply.”
“You didn’t know me when I was growing up. Trust me, I know exactly what sort of people I’m dealing with.”
Q
UIETLY AND CAREFULLY.
That was how Kozlowski wanted to proceed. It might be more easily said than done, though, given the public nature of the individuals they were investigating. He and Flaherty agreed that, other than Finn, Clarke and Loring seemed to be the most likely suspects. Kozlowski had some contacts in the Boston office of the FBI and the Justice Department, so he agreed to dig deeper into Loring’s past. Flaherty agreed to put in the legwork on Clarke.
She started online, where most good investigators started in the modern world. There was no shortage of information on Massachusetts’s ninety-fifth governor; the problem was distilling it into a useful quantity.
William Holloran Clarke was a descendant of Colonel Nathanial J. Clarke, who’d fought under General George Washington during the American Revolution. It was a storied lineage of privilege and sacrifice that included several early state senators, a leading abolitionist, and a Civil War general. The family had fallen on hard times in the second half of the nineteenth century, losing much of its wealth on speculative ventures out West, but the family’s fortune had been revived by Clarke’s father, who made millions liquidating the assets of bankrupt businessmen during the Great Depression. He had then parlayed that into an inestimable fortune by investing in real estate in and around Boston.
The restoration of the Clarke family to wealth and power had afforded young William Clarke every opportunity imaginable, and he took full advantage. He attended Phillips Andover Academy, where he was a star athlete and president of his class. From there, he took his degree at Harvard, across the river from his father’s Beacon Hill mansion, where he graduated with highest honors. After that, he worked for two years before returning to Cambridge to get a joint degree in law and business. There’d been some controversy regarding his return to Harvard, coming as it did after his number had been selected in the military draft lottery, but strings were pulled, and his enlistment was deferred until after his graduation, and a sure tour in Vietnam ultimately morphed into a more mundane eighteen-month stint with the navy’s Judge Advocate General’s Corps. Few questions were asked.
Once released from the military, he took up a key role running the family’s various businesses. His father passed away in the early 1980s, leaving an empire to his son, which William Clarke ran with efficiency and even, some would say, with compassion. While Clarke never failed to realize astonishing profits, he also became one of the city’s leading philanthropists, establishing homeless shelters, schools, and youth programs. The family’s extensive real estate holdings allowed him to couple commercial development with the dedication of public parks, works projects, and green space. The results were deemed not only good for Boston, but often resulted in enormous tax writeoffs for Clarke’s businesses. He was a man who seemed to have the Midas touch.
It came as no surprise, then, when Clarke ran for the governorship and won handily. There were few knocks against him during the campaign, and all that his opponent had been able to come up with was some minor scandal involving an alleged payoff over the naming of a local park in Southie. It had never amounted to anything, and Clarke was elected in a landslide.
Since his election, Clarke had focused his energies on massive improvements in the commonwealth’s infrastructure. The Big Dig was already under way when he took office, but he had broadened the project to include new secondary roadways and to increase the amount of green space planned. He’d implemented a plan to overhaul Logan Airport, and he’d created the Massachusetts Transportation Safety Commission, which had grown quickly into the largest bureaucracy in Massachusetts history.
The only real attacks on his administration seemed to concern its lack of fiscal restraint and oversight—a surprise to many who viewed Clarke as a brilliant businessman. The state budget had more than doubled in the short time he’d been in office, and several well-known economists were predicting dire economic consequences down the road.
Flaherty looked up from the news service printouts she’d been reviewing to see Kozlowski standing in front of her desk. She gave a start. “Damn it, Koz!” she yelled. “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on people like that.”
He chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t. “What have you got there?” he asked.
“Nothing yet. I was just doing a background check on our governor, trying to get a feel for what sort of skeletons he might have in his closets.”
“And what are you finding?”
“So far, only the invisible kind.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not even an unpaid parking ticket. If this guy is doing something wrong, he’s being very discreet about it.” Flaherty noticed that her partner looked surprised. “I’m serious. Even when he was in the private sector he had the reputation of being a principled real estate developer.”
“There’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.”
“No shit, but that’s his reputation.”
“How about his way with the ladies? Any possibility he and Natalie Caldwell were more than just committee members together?”
“It’s always possible, but I can’t find anything that would suggest it. He’s been married to Emily Worthington Clarke for twenty-five years, and I can’t find any hint of infidelity. Even if there were, I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing he’d kill over. I mean, it’s almost expected from a guy like him. I doubt a little extracurricular dabbling would hurt him politically.” Flaherty shook her head in frustration. “I’m hitting nothing but dead ends. How about you?”
Kozlowski smiled. “I had better luck. It seems as though our friend Mr. Loring may have a few things to hide. For instance, it turns out he was more involved in the Bulger case than the media ever let on. He worked hand in hand with Connolly in developing relationships with mob snitches. He even met with Bulger a number of times over the years when he was still being protected by the feds.”
“Wow,” Flaherty exclaimed. “He certainly managed to keep that out of the news, didn’t he?”
Kozlowski nodded. “That’s not all. Apparently, Loring was developing other snitches on his own—high-level snitches in the various organized gangs in Boston. Some of those he kept secret from everyone else over at the Justice Department. As a result, no one over there seems to have a clear idea about how deep Loring was into these gangs. Apparently, the kinds of guys he’d lined up were into some really bad shit. Some people he used to work with in the government think he may still be in contact with these people—and that he might have turned dirty.”
“If Natalie Caldwell had the evidence to prove those kinds of allegations, it would certainly provide a good motive for murder, wouldn’t it?”
Kozlowski agreed. “You should also know that he considers himself a bit of an office Casanova. He likes his women young, and apparently a couple have even liked him back.”
Flaherty made a face. “I’ve seen him in action myself. It’s not pretty.”
“So, with Loring we’ve got a possible love-interest angle as well.”
Flaherty shook her head in disgust. “Loring seems to be a better suspect than Clarke. Damn, maybe I should reconsider Clarke’s job offer.”
Kozlowski mused for a moment. “It’s a great opportunity,” he said. “And I can’t think of anyone who’d be better for the job than you. How long did he give you to get back to him?”
“I can probably put him off for a couple of days, but no longer.”
“All right, then. Let’s get this case wrapped up before then so you can make up your mind without worrying you might be working for a murderer.”
Flaherty smiled. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Just then the phone rang. She picked it up. “Flaherty,” she said.
“Linda, it’s Finn,” came the familiar voice on the other end of the line.
Flaherty looked up at Kozlowski and mouthed the word
Finn.
“Yes, Finn, what is it?” she said into the phone.
“I need to talk to you. I think I may have figured out who killed Natalie.”
She paused, wondering if he was on the level. “Well, do you want to give me a clue?” she asked tentatively.
“Not over the phone,” Finn replied. “Look, I’m at work now. Can you meet me at my apartment? I need to explain this to you in person.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible. Now?”
Flaherty looked at her watch. It was six-thirty in the evening. “Okay, I’ll be over as soon as I can,” she said.
Finn was relieved. “Thank you. You won’t be sorry. I’ll get out of here as soon as possible.”
Flaherty hesitated. “I’m not going to wait in front of your house, Finn,” she said, somewhat annoyed.
“Please,” Finn pleaded. “I need to talk to you. If I’m not there when you arrive, you can let yourself in and wait in the apartment. There’s a key hidden in a slot underneath the mailbox.”
Flaherty checked her watch again and sighed. “All right, I’ll see you shortly.” She hung up the phone and looked over at her partner with a raised eyebrow. “He says he’s solved the murder.”
“This should be interesting,” Kozlowski said. “You want me to tag along?”
She shook her head. “I have a feeling he’ll be more comfortable sharing whatever information he has if it’s just me. You two have never seemed particularly close.”
Kozlowski chuckled. “Still holding out hope for a romance, eh, Lieutenant?”
“He’s not such a bad guy, Koz. If he’s cleared in this case, I think you may actually grow to like him.”
“Yeah, just remember that he hasn’t been cleared yet. Be careful when you’re dealing with this guy. You’ve seen his record.”
“I love it when you worry about me, Dad.”
“Hey, I’m not worried about you. Weidel is looking for an excuse to kick both of us off the force, and if you get yourself killed, I’m sure he’ll blame it on me and try to have my pension taken away.”
“Your concern is heartwarming.”
“Just telling it like it is.”
Finn hung up the phone and looked at Bostick. “She said she’d meet me,” he said.
“Good,” Bostick said. “But do you think she’ll believe you? That’s the real question, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I can only lay out what we’ve discovered. She’ll have to make up her own mind.”
Bostick nodded. “Well, this is where I bow out. Are you going to take these lists with you?” he asked, pointing to the notes they’d taken listing Huron’s phantom employees.
Finn shook his head. “No, I’m locking those in the drawer of my desk so I can find them later. I’ll make copies for Linda once I see what her reaction is to this information.”
“
Linda?
” Bostick smiled. “Even when I was on the force, I never heard anyone call her anything other than ‘Detective,’ or maybe ‘Detective Lieutenant.’ How is it you get to call her ‘Linda’?”
“Don’t ask,” Finn said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.” They walked out of the conference room and headed toward the elevator bank. They were halfway there when Finn heard someone calling him.
“Finn! Finn!” came the voice from behind them. He turned and saw Preston Holland coming toward them. To his horror, he also saw that Tony McGuire was behind Holland. “Finn, glad we caught you,” Preston said as he approached the two. He was brought up short when he noticed the bruises on Finn’s face. “Good God, son, what happened to you?”
Finn had almost forgotten about his appearance. “I got elbowed in a basketball game and did a face-plant into the floor,” he said lamely. Fortunately, Holland was preoccupied and just nodded sympathetically. By then, McGuire was standing next to them as well.
“Mr. McGuire, this is Peter Bostick, one of our private investigators. Pete, Mr. McGuire is the head of Huron Security.”
Bostick’s face was as white as a sheet as he held out a reluctant hand to McGuire. “Pleased to meet you,” he croaked.
McGuire nodded as he regarded Bostick with suspicion.
“I didn’t even know you were working on this case with us, Peter,” Holland commented. Then he laughed as he looked over at McGuire. “I guess I’ve got to pay closer attention to the bills I send you, eh, Tony. Well, in any case, Mr. Bostick is one of our best, so you’d be getting a bargain.”
“I was just doing a favor for Finn,” Bostick said.
“It wasn’t related to the Tannery case,” Finn added quickly. “Then I feel better,” Preston said, winking at McGuire. “Finn, we had a couple of quick questions about this settlement Barnolk has proposed. Can we trouble you for a moment?”
“Sure,” Finn said. “You can show yourself out, can’t you, Peter?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Bostick replied, already moving toward the elevators.
“Why don’t we go sit in my office,” Holland said as he, Finn, and McGuire walked in the other direction down the hall.
McGuire was looking back over his shoulder at Bostick as he hurried into an elevator. “What sort of investigation was he doing for you?” he asked Finn, gesturing toward Bostick.
“Nothing that important,” Finn replied. “He owed me a favor and I needed a little help with something.”
McGuire’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Finn. Then he smiled icily, sending shivers down Finn’s spine. “It’s always good to have some favors to call in.”