Lifeguard

Part Three. GACHET

Chapter 34

“I DON’T THINK he did it, George!” Ellie said into the speakerphone. “Not the murders, anyway.”

The FBI Crisis Team in Boston had just debriefed her about her ordeal. Maybe she was a little out of her league, but she told them what she saw. That this Kelly was no killer. Just someone in way over his head who panicked. That until his picture ?ashed unexpectedly on the TV, she was sure she was about to get him to come in.

Now, in the regional director’s conference room in Boston, she was able to report back to her boss in the Florida of?ce. “You remember how the local police said alarms were going off all over town at the time of the theft, George? That’s what he did. He didn’t kill those people or take the art. He set off the alarms.”

“Sounds like you two got pretty cozy in your time together,” Moretti said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ellie asked.

“I don’t know, just that it seems you were able to pick up so much about the guy. Heisted a car together, exchanged life stories.”

Ellie stared at the speaker box. She had just spent eight hours with a gun pointed at her, the most nerve- racking day of her life. “I did mention he had a gun, didn’t I, George?”

“You did – and not a single opportunity presented itself in all the time you were together, including two venue changes, to take it away from him? Or to get out of there, Ellie? I was only thinking, maybe another agent…”

“I guess I thought I could bring him in without anyone getting hurt. My read was that it didn’t seem like murder was in the guy’s makeup.”

Moretti sniffed. “You’ll pardon me if I just don’t buy into that, Ellie.”

“Into what?” she asked, hesitating.

“Your read. With all due respect, of course.”

“On the basis of what?” she shot back. The asshole was holding back something from her.

“On the basis that innocent guys don’t abduct federal agents,” Moretti replied.

“I did say he panicked, George.”

“And that we ran the guy’s picture around the Brazilian Court in Palm Beach. He was seen with Tess McAuliffe, Ellie. He had lunch with her. The same afternoon she was killed.”

Chapter 35

I’M PRETTY SURE that night was the longest and loneliest of my life.

It was my third night on the run. I didn’t know whom I could trust, except Dave, and I was determined not to get him involved. Everyone else I would’ve gone to, who would’ve helped me out, was dead.

The worst thing was, some of those people I couldn’t trust had the same last name as I did.

I ditched the minivan and spent the night curled up in an all-night movie theater in Cambridge, watching Lord of the Rings over and over with a bunch of overenthused college students. I was bundled up in my hooded sweatshirt, too scared to let anybody see my face. When the ?nal showing was over, I actually felt as though I’d been reprieved.

About eight the next morning I took a cab out to Watertown, ?fteen minutes away. I caught a glimpse of the morning Globe on the cabbie’s front seat. LOCAL MAN HUNTED IN FBI HOSTAGE ABDUCTION. SOUGHT IN CONNECTION WITH FLORIDA MURDERS. I sank back in the seat and pulled down my cap.

Watertown was one of those working-class suburbs of Boston, except instead of just the Irish and the Italians and the blacks, it was home to a lot of Armenians. I had the cab let me off on Palfrey, and walked back a couple of blocks to Mount Auburn. I stopped in front of an ordinary white Victorian just off the corner.

A sign hung over the front steps: WATCHES REPAIRED. JEWELRY BOUGHT AND SOLD. A wooden arrow pointed up to the second ?oor. I climbed the steps and made my way around to the porch. A bell tinkled as I opened the door.

A heavyset man with bushy gray hair in a jeweler’s apron looked up from behind the counter. His jowly face broke into a thin smile. “You’re taking a helluva chance coming here like this, Neddie-boy. But how the hell are you?”

Chapter 36

I FLIPPED a hand-scrawled sign to CLOSED. “I need to talk to you, Uncle George.”

George Harotunian wasn’t my real uncle. It was just that I had known him my whole life. He was my father’s trusted friend, his business partner. His fence.

When we were growing up, George was as close to a real uncle to Dave and me as we ever had. He always gave my mother money when my father was in jail. He had connections for choice Celtics seats at the Garden. Somehow he managed to steer clear of the law himself. Everyone seemed to ?nd a way to like Uncle George. The good guys and the bad. So I was thinking, Is he Gachet?

“Congratulations, Neddie.” George shook his head. “Always thought it would be for hockey, but you certainly made the big leagues now.”

“I need to ?nd Frank, Uncle George.”

He took out his eyepiece and wheeled his chair back from the counter. “I don’t think that would be wise right now, son. You want some advice? You need a lawyer. Let me hook you up with somebody good. Turn yourself in.”

“C’mon, Uncle George, you know I didn’t do anything down there.”

“I know you didn’t do anything,” George said, tossing a copy of the morning paper on the counter, “but you got a helluva novel way of showing that to everyone else. You think your father was involved? Jesus, Neddie, you don’t know him now. Whitey’s too sick to do anything these days. Except cough and complain.”

“He needs a kidney, right?”

“He needs a lot of things, kid. You think your father would trade his brother’s son, and the rest of those kids, just to pee in a tube for a couple more years? You’re judging him a bit too hard, son.”

“You know better than anyone that Mickey wouldn’t make a move without Frank,” I said. “I’m not saying he had anybody killed, but I damn well think he knows who set them up. He knows something, and I need to know it, too. My best friends are dead.”

“Christ, Ned,” George wheezed, “you think your father knows the difference between a Jackson Pollock and a fucking Etch-A-Sketch? The man’s no saint, I know, but he loves you more than you think.”

“I guess I ?gure he loves his life more. I need to ?nd him, Uncle George, please…”

George came around the counter and stared at me, shaking his large, bushy head. “You must need money, kid.”

He reached under his apron and peeled off ?ve fresh hundred-dollar bills from a large roll. I took them and stuffed them in my jeans. Accessing my ATM account would have been like a homing signal now. “I know people