CHAPTER 15
There were two of them, each one uglier than the other. And one was a woman, built like one of those brick houses they put around high-voltage substations. She was about thirty-five, black with a shaved head and round rimless glasses, dressed in a baggy dark purple suit over a black shirt buttoned to the top. She was no more than five-five and probably outweighed me-and I’m carrying 190 now. Her partner was over forty and definitely outweighed me. Be hard not to, given he was a good six-three and not built small. Between them, they could more than handle me. They could stop a bullet train.
“Jonah Geller, these are Detectives Betts and Simenko from the Boston police,” Gianelli said; Betts was the woman. “They’d like to ask you a couple of questions about the photos you emailed me.”
“Why are the Boston police interested?”
“We’ll sort out the jurisdictional issues later.”
“There are no jurisdictional issues,” Betts said. Being short, she maintained an outward thrust of her chin that was probably supposed to intimidate people but just made her look defensive.
Gianelli didn’t seem intimidated. “Like I said, we’ll sort that out later. Geller, you sent me this picture by email, right?” He placed a printout of the Kevin Walsh photo on the table.
There was no point in denying it. The cyberlink was there. “Yes.”
“And this one?”
It was McCudden’s battered face, with blood coming out of his mouth and cheek.
“Handsome devil,” Simenko said.
“You said it was your belief that these men attempted to abduct David Fine on Summit Avenue in Brookline on the evening of February 28?”
“This is starting to take on the rhythm of an interrogation,” I said.
“It’s a conversation,” Gianelli said.
“For now,” Simenko said. He took my licence out of the side pocket of his grey suit coat, examined it and dropped it back in, like that was supposed to make the score fifteen-love.
“You further stated,” Gianelli said, “that they-”
“Further stated?”
“You told me you caught them following you yesterday and there was an altercation?”
“Mostly verbal.”
“That was why McCudden was sleeping,” Simenko said. “You talked him unconscious.”
“Is that the last time you saw him?” Betts said.
“McCudden?”
“Him or Walsh.”
“Yes, that’s the last I saw of either.”
“No further altercations, verbal or otherwise?”
“There’s that rhythm again.”
“Do you have a firearm here in Boston?” Simenko asked.
“No. I already told Gianelli that.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“You have a licence to carry one?”
“No. No gun, therefore no licence.”
Betts said, “You’ll submit to GSR testing?”
“I should have asked for the coffee, Gianelli. A bottle of water isn’t worth this.”
“McCudden and Walsh were shot and killed late last night,” she said. “Dumped in the harbour. Which,” she said to Gianelli more than me, “definitely means no jurisdictional issues.”
Jesus, the two of them dead. For screwing up with us yesterday. Whoever they were working for didn’t have a long fuse.
“Can you account for your whereabouts?” Simenko said.
“I was sound asleep.”
“At the Sam Adams.”
“Correct.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Not with your partner?”
“She has her own room.”
Betts reached into her inside pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Unfolded, it was an enlarged copy of a photo from Jenn’s investigator’s licence.
“I don’t know,” Simenko said. “If it was me, I’d be sharing one room.”
“Me too,” Betts said.
Hilarious, both of them. At least they’d still be ugly in the morning.
“You say Walsh admitted his part in this supposed abduction?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Apart from the two shots that took the back of his head off,” she said, “he had abrasions and bruising on one leg. That have anything to do with him admitting it?”
“He was entirely cooperative. Plus I found a witness who’d identify at least one of them,” I said.
“The cyclist,” Gianelli said. “We’re trying to get in contact with him.”
“This cyclist didn’t seem to think there was an abduction until Geller told him so,” Simenko said. “Otherwise he would have called it in at the time, right?”
“He’ll say they were there,” I said.
“On the sidewalk with Mr. Fine, if that was Mr. Fine. Maybe arguing. They could have bumped into each other. It could have been a simple grab for his wallet or briefcase.”
“Yeah, there’s a big market for papers on kidney disease.”
“They wouldn’t know what was in it.”
“He hasn’t been seen since and they were following us because we’re looking for him.”
“You don’t know that for a fact.”
“I know they’re dead. So who did they work for?” I asked.
“Right,” said Simenko. “You’re not from around here. Don’t know your locals.”
“But you do, so you know who killed them. For fucking up the abduction and getting taken by us.”
“By you and your feisty partner,” said Betts. “How long you going to be here?”
“Until we find out what happened to David.”
“You renting by the month?”
“Very funny. Do you know who they worked for or not?”
“That’s a conversation for the grown-ups,” Simenko said. “Gianelli, copy us on the file on this MisPer. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.”
They were on their way out the door when I said, “Hey. My licence.”
Simenko shrugged and tossed it on the table. “Ain’t worth shit here anyway.”
“You throw a nice ambush,” I said after they’d gone.
“I warned you,” Gianelli said. “I told you to introduce yourself.”
“You didn’t have to lure me down here with a phone call. You could have told me what it was about, I’d have come.”
“Hey, I did you a favour. They wanted you down at their place and that wouldn’t have been as much fun. They got security at the front door like an airport. Now, you want a coffee or not?”
He took me up to his second-floor office, fortuitously free now, and went and got us each a mug of coffee.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Who?”
“The man the two dead guys worked for.”
