Eight In The Box Part 5

CHAPTER 16.

The defense attorney was already an hour late. Connie was irritated, but he could see that the long wait in the hall outside the trial session was starting to wear on Andi. She kept adjusting her hair, flipping it back, pulling it forward over her shoulder. The defense attorney was sure to get a lecture from Judge Davis for showing up late on trial day. Good enough for him. "Stay loose." He touched her shoulder. "This could be a defense tactic to rattle you." but he could see that the long wait in the hall outside the trial session was starting to wear on Andi. She kept adjusting her hair, flipping it back, pulling it forward over her shoulder. The defense attorney was sure to get a lecture from Judge Davis for showing up late on trial day. Good enough for him. "Stay loose." He touched her shoulder. "This could be a defense tactic to rattle you."

"Connie." He turned to see Brendan Sullivan. Brendan had been the rookie prosecutor in the office before Monica Hughes was hired. He had grown up on the streets of South Boston, a product of the D Street projects, one of the toughest public-housing developments in the city. A true Southie boy who had never left home except to go away to college. Connie admired his intelligence, his quick wit and his vicious sense of humor. And n.o.body put in more time working up a case than Brendan. Like everyone from Southie, Brendan was also politically connected. His influence was a direct line to the DA himself, and he made a point of letting everyone know that he couldn't lose his job unless he got caught, as he liked to say, with a dead hooker in the trunk of his car.

"What's up?" Connie said.

"You got a minute?" Brendan waved Connie away from Andi. "I've got a case with an old friend, Peter Fitzpatrick."

Connie smiled. "The state senator's son?"

"The one and only. We grew up together. Just joined his dad's law firm. Wants to make a name for himself, impress the old man. He's trying to pressure me to take care of him on a case."

"Want me to handle it for you?" Connie asked. "I don't mind, if you feel uncomfortable telling him to f.u.c.k off."

"I don't want you to do my job. I've been around here long enough to handle things on my own. I just want to make sure I'm doing the right thing."

"Go with your gut. If he was really your friend, he wouldn't put you in this posi-"

"Hey, Sully."

Connie turned to see a tall, beefy, red-faced Peter Fitzpatrick coming out of the second session. The man's gym membership had obviously expired some time ago.

"Let him know how things work around here," Connie said under his breath, through a forced smile of greeting. "Tell him that you don't hand out favors." Connie could feel the muscles in his jaw tensing up. The thought of someone using a friendship, trying to curry favor, using political connections for personal gain-all of it went against everything he believed in, everything the system stood for.

Brendan stepped toward Fitzpatrick to shake hands. He was just as tall as the senator's son, but Brendan was thick with muscle, not bloat.

"C'mon, Sully, do me this one," Connie heard Fitzpatrick say.

"You know I can't do that, Pete," Brendan said. "I have to treat every defendant the same, no matter who his lawyer is."

"It's not like that, Sully. My client's not a bad guy. If he gets a conviction, it'll end his career. He's a union carpenter. Needs his car and license to get to work. A cocaine distribution and they'll yank his license. It's a felony conviction. Sully, he shared some c.o.ke with a friend and an undercover saw it go down. I'm just asking you to cut him some slack and break it down to a straight possession, a misdemeanor. Then maybe I can get the judge to let him plead to sufficient facts. I don't want him to end up with a guilty on his record."

The two men exchanged a few words Connie couldn't make out, and then he heard Brendan, his voice louder, firmer. "This is a legitimate distribution case. It doesn't matter if he sold the stuff or shared it, it's still a distribution. How can I reduce it to a possession?"

"In order to distribute distribute it, he had to have it, he had to have possessed possessed it first. It's not illogical." it first. It's not illogical."

"I can't believe you said that with a straight face." Brendan shook his head. "If my supervisor found out I did something like that for an old friend from Southie, she'd stick me in arraignments for a year. If the judge figured it out..."

Connie admired how Brendan looked directly at Peter Fitzpatrick, how he kept his hand on the man's elbow, how he sounded pained to deliver the bad news. Here was a man who knew how to avoid an ugly confrontation. Most of all, he was a man of principle.

"Sully, I've never asked you for anything before," Fitzpatrick said.

"I like it that way." Brendan let go of Fitzpatrick's elbow and took a step back.

"This guy is popular in the union." Fitzpatrick nodded his head toward his client-a tense, wiry man, uncomfortable with his combed hair and his shirt and tie-who had come out of the courtroom and was standing by the balcony glaring at them.

"Gee, I wonder why?" Brendan said sarcastically.

"It's not because of the drugs. He's not a dealer. He's a regular guy with a habit. And the union leaders like him. They They actually hired me to help the kid out. They want him to get help. If I can get him off without a guilty, it makes me look good. The guys at the union are going to hear about what a nice job I did. Bring more work in for me and the old man." actually hired me to help the kid out. They want him to get help. If I can get him off without a guilty, it makes me look good. The guys at the union are going to hear about what a nice job I did. Bring more work in for me and the old man."

"You're not the one that's going to lose your career."

"But it's not going to make you look bad for your boss or for the judge either. They'll think you're being reasonable."

"Sorry, Pete," Brendan said firmly. Connie could see that he felt bad saying no to a friend.

"C'mon, Brendan," Fitzpatrick said, almost begging. "Do the right thing. He's not the typical guy you see in this court. He's like you and me, just a ham-'n'-egger tryin' to make a living."

"Do the right thing?" Brendan asked, angry now.

Connie could see it in the stiffening of Brendan's back, the way his neck reddened. Their voices were edging louder. Connie imagined what would have happened if these two had met for a school yard fight. He figured that on size and strength alone, Brendan would have taken Fitzpatrick out with one punch. Andi caught Connie's attention and gestured that she was going to the water cooler. She didn't need the stress of watching two lawyers brawling in the hallway before her first trial.

"He's like you and me?" Brendan asked. "What's that supposed to mean? He's white so he deserves a break?" Brendan shot a look at the client who lounged against the wall, looking like he wanted nothing more than to light up a cigarette and toss back a beer. "I'm not giving your guy special treatment because he's white or because you represent him. I'll offer him a guilty finding with a year of probation, same thing I'd offer anyone who walked into this court."

Fitzpatrick's whole demeanor shifted. "Now I get it," he said. "All of a sudden, you're a true believer. I think maybe you forgot where you came from."

"I grew up in the projects, not in some mansion overlooking Castle Island. You don't know where the f.u.c.k I came from, so don't ever pull that s.h.i.t on me. I gave you an offer. Take it or leave it."

"You can shove your offer up your a.s.s, Brendan."

"Good. Let's pick a trial date. That is, if you have the b.a.l.l.s to actually try a case instead of just begging for a break." Brendan turned and walked toward the courtroom.

Fitzpatrick hunkered with his client, the man gesturing wildly at the bad news.

When Connie looked back toward Andi, he saw that she'd spotted the defense attorney that'd kept them waiting. She took a few steps toward the man, her hand extended in a greeting. Good strategy. Don't show how p.i.s.sed you are about the little head game of being late.

He'd have to remember to tell Brendan what a smooth job he'd done, handling Peter Fitzpatrick.

CHAPTER 17.

Sergeant Mooney's silver Ford Taurus was parked on the street behind a black SUV. Angel Alves parked behind them and made his way to the back door of the McCarthy house. He stepped through the small mudroom, its walls covered in old-fashioned bead board, and directly into the kitchen. Before he found Mooney, he could hear his voice. a black SUV. Angel Alves parked behind them and made his way to the back door of the McCarthy house. He stepped through the small mudroom, its walls covered in old-fashioned bead board, and directly into the kitchen. Before he found Mooney, he could hear his voice.

"Mr. McCarthy," Alves said, extending his hand to the man seated at the kitchen table with Mooney.

"Call me Walter."

"Any luck?" Alves gestured to a pile of credit card statements.

"Nothing from New Balance," Mooney said. "But we did find something strange. One of her suits is missing."

"When I got here," Walter McCarthy said, "Susan's mother was upstairs going through her stuff." The man looked as though he hadn't slept since he'd gotten the news of his ex-wife's disappearance. "She just wants to touch everything Susan wore, to smell her again." He stopped talking for a moment, trying to control his own emotions. He took a breath. "As she's going through the closet she notices that Susan's favorite blue suit is missing. It was an expensive suit that she bought in New York last fall. Susan called it her money suit."

"Are you sure it's not in the house?" Alves asked.

"I'm sure," McCarthy said. "We looked everywhere. My mother-in-law is upstairs now, taking another look." He glanced at the ceiling above them. "It's really getting to her."

"What about Fidelity?" Alves asked. "Could she have left the suit at work?"

"I checked with her supervisor," Mooney said. "She kept some clothes in a closet, but there was no suit."

"Dry cleaners?" Alves asked.

"She's gone to the same place for years. They keep track of everything by phone number. She had a few things that she dropped off on Sat.u.r.day, but no suit."

"Angel, let me talk to you outside for a minute. Could you excuse us, Walter?" Mooney said.

"I'll go up and check on her." He seemed relieved to have something to do.

They walked down the stairs and into the small, fenced yard. Mooney turned to Alves. "What about the list from New Balance?"

"A few of the guys had records. Nothing significant. Mostly drug possessions and motor vehicle stuff. It might be worth going out to see them in person."

"Not now. Angel, I think our killer took the suit as a souvenir for himself. As if taking her body wasn't enough. I want you to contact Mich.e.l.le Hayes's parents and see if any of her clothes are missing. I don't know what this f.u.c.kin' nut is up to, but I'm sure he did the same thing with Hayes. Call me if you need me." Mooney walked back into the house.

Alves wasn't looking forward to speaking with Mich.e.l.le Hayes's parents again. Nice, solid people. He didn't want to raise their hopes. But if one of Mich.e.l.le's dresses was missing, maybe they'd all have the break they were praying for.

CHAPTER 18.

Andi Norton needed to clear her head. The judge had only given them a fifteen-minute recess, enough time for the lawyers and the jurors to stretch their legs and use the bathroom. She needed more time than that. Her case was falling apart. a fifteen-minute recess, enough time for the lawyers and the jurors to stretch their legs and use the bathroom. She needed more time than that. Her case was falling apart.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?" Connie had come up behind her.

The disappointment in his voice stung. "I'm getting my a.s.s kicked. I can't even ask a question without that jerk objecting."

"He's playing games with you, like he did this morning by showing up late. He's trying to throw you off."

"It's working."

"No s.h.i.t. He does this on every case. It's his shtick. And he's not going to let up unless you show him that it's not bothering you. Right now he smells blood. You'd better get your head out of your a.s.s if you plan on winning."

"And how do I do that?"

"Start by showing a little confidence. What I saw in there was a person who didn't even believe in her own case. If you don't believe in it, why should the jury?"

"He keeps objecting. I can't get any kind of rhythm going."

"The thing is that you've responded to all his objections, and he's been overruled. You're winning those little battles. So the jury sees that you're not doing anything wrong. You look like the better lawyer. But he's got you rattled. If you regain your composure and keep crushing his objections you'll be fine. But you have to get fired up before it's too late."

She felt beaten down, but there was no reason for it. Connie was right, she had been doing a good job with her arguments. Maybe the defense was coming at her harder because she was a woman. Well, she had to show him that he couldn't mess with her. "Let's go kick some a.s.s," she said as she turned back toward the courtroom.

CHAPTER 19.

Alves tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for Mooney to answer his phone. Mooney picked up on the third ring. "What do you have for me?" he bellowed. to answer his phone. Mooney picked up on the third ring. "What do you have for me?" he bellowed.

"I just left Mich.e.l.le Hayes's mother. One of Mich.e.l.le's dresses is is missing. A black skirt-suit that she wore for important meetings," Alves said. "Her parents are storing all of her stuff in their attic. We went through dozens of boxes." There was a new energy running through Alves. Mooney's predawn wake-up call was forgiven. It felt good to know something new about the killer. Now they had to figure out why he took the clothing. missing. A black skirt-suit that she wore for important meetings," Alves said. "Her parents are storing all of her stuff in their attic. We went through dozens of boxes." There was a new energy running through Alves. Mooney's predawn wake-up call was forgiven. It felt good to know something new about the killer. Now they had to figure out why he took the clothing.

Alves turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the sidewalk in front of the Hayes house. Mich.e.l.le Hayes's parents lived in White City, originally a couple of apartment buildings arising near Forest Hills, their pale stucco suggesting the glowing, ethereal beauty of the white buildings designed for the World's Columbian Exposition held in Chicago at the turn of the century. Alves had seen photographs in his History of Architecture cla.s.s in college.

"Did he take anything else?"

"Not sure," Alves said. "Her mom didn't know everything she owned, but she had seen Mich.e.l.le in the missing suit a couple of times."

"McCarthy's mother thinks the killer may have taken some of her underwear too," Mooney said. "According to her, Susan was very neat and her underwear drawer looked like it had been ransacked, but she couldn't say for sure if anything was missing."

Alves drove past Forest Hills onto South Street in Jamaica Plain. "I can't stop wondering why he's doing this." He could hear Mooney breathing on the other end. "Talking to those two families today...do you ever get used to it, Sarge?"

"You get numb," Mooney said, "which isn't the same thing." Then his booming voice was back, "It's been a tough couple of days, but we've finally got something. Where are you now?"

"Almost to the monument in JP."

"We need to sit down and figure out our next move."

"Sarge, it's Marcy's thirtieth birthday, remember? Her parents are having a big party for her. They've invited all our friends from the old neighborhood. I told you about it last week."

"Last week I didn't know there was a serial killer in the city. I hate to spoil your time, but you're going to have to cancel. We need to work tonight. This case is going cold quickly."

"I can't cancel. Why don't I just go for a while and catch up with you later, Sarge?" Alves was begging. Marcy was not happy with him getting called out so early on her birthday. She would be livid if he missed the party with all their friends and family. "She'll kill me if I'm not there. The kids will be crying if I don't show up."

"How are the twins doing?"