We buried Dave in the plot next to my brother, John Michael. Everyone was huddled there, cheeks streaming with tears. I held my mom by the arm. It’s what they say about the Irish, right? We know how to bury people. We know how to hold up. We got used to losing people early in the Bush.
The priest asked if anyone had any last words. To my surprise, my father stepped forward. He asked for a moment alone.
He stepped up to the polished cherry casket and placed his hand on the lid. He muttered something softly. What could he be saying? I never wanted this to happen to you, son? Ned shouldn’t have gotten you involved?
I glanced at Father Donlan. He nodded. I stepped down to the gravesite and stood next to Frank. The rain started to pick up. A cold breeze blew in my face. We stood there for a moment. Frank ran his hand along the casket, never even glancing at me. He took a deep swallow.
“They needed a go-between, Ned,” my father said, and gritted his teeth. “They needed someone to organize a crew, to do the heist.”
I turned to him, but he kept staring straight ahead. “Who, Pop?”
“Not the wife, if that’s what you mean. Or that other chump they killed.”
I nodded. “I already knew that, Pop.”
He shut his eyes. “It was supposed to be a layup, Ned. No one was supposed to get hurt. You think I would put Mickey onto anything that was dirty? Bobby, Dee… Jesus, Ned, I’ve known her dad for thirty years…”
He turned to me, and in the thinness of his face, I could see tears. I had never seen my father cry. He looked at me, almost angry. “You think for a second, son, I would’ve ever let them take you?”
Something cracked in me at that moment. In the pit of my chest. In the rain. With my brother lying there. Call it the loathing that had been building up. My resolve to see him as I did. I felt this powerful salty surge in my eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I reached out and wrapped my hand gently over his, on the casket. I could feel his bony fingers tremble, the terror in his heart. In that moment I felt what it must be like to be scared to die.
“I know what I’ve done,” he said, straightening, “and I’ll have to live with it. However long that is. Anyway, Neddie” – I saw a hint of a smile – “I’m glad you ended up okay.”
My voice cracked. “I’m not okay, Pop. Dave’s dead. I’m going to prison. Jesus, Dad, who?”
He tightened his fist into a hard ball. A breath slowly leaked out, as if he were fighting some oath or vow he’d kept for many years. “I knew him from years ago in Boston. He moved away, though. The move did him good. They needed a crew from out of town.”
“Who?”
My father told me the name.
I stood there for a moment, my chest tight. In a second, everything was clear to me.
“He wanted a crew from out of town,” my father said again, “and I had one, right?” He finally looked at me. “It was just a payout, Ned. Like going to the bank and they hand you a mil. Split aces, Ned. You know what I mean?”
He massaged his hand across the polished casket lid, slick with rain. “Even Davey would’ve understood.”
I moved close and put my hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, Pop, I know what you mean.”
Chapter 85
PALM BEACH Detective Carl Breen was sipping a Starbucks on a bench facing the marina across the bridge off Flagler Drive. Ellie turned to him. “I need you to help me, Carl.”
They stared at the fancy white yachts across the lake, beauties, crews in white uniforms hosing them down.
“Why me?” Breen asked. “Why not go to Lawson? You and he seem to be buddies.”
“Great friends, Carl. Stratton, too. That’s why I’m here.”
“Slip’s okay,” the Palm Beach detective said, and smiled, speaking of Lawson. “He’s just been here a long time.”
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Ellie said. “It’s who he works for I don’t trust.”
A gull cawed from a mooring a few feet away. Breen shook his head.
“You’ve sure come a ways in a couple of weeks since you stumbled into my crime scene. The most sought after suspect in America falls in your lap. Now you’re making accusations against one of the most important people in town.”
“Art’s booming, Carl. What can I say? And I wouldn’t have exactly called it ‘falling into my lap.’ I was abducted, remember.”
Breen raised his palms. “Hey, I actually meant it as a compliment. So, what’s in all this for me?”
“Biggest bust of your career,” Ellie said.
Breen let out an amused laugh. He took a last gulp of the coffee and crumpled the cup into a ball. “Okay, I’m listening…”
“Stratton had Tess McAuliffe killed,” Ellie said, eyes fixed on him.
“Knew you were going to say that,” Breen sniffed.
“Yeah? Well, what you probably didn’t know was that Tess McAuliffe wasn’t her real name. It was Marty Miller. And the reason you haven’t been able to find out a thing about her is that she’s from Australia. She was a hooker down there. She was hired to do a job. Stratton.”
“And where did you get this?” Breen faced her.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ellie said. “You can have it, too. What does matter is that Dennis Stratton was having an affair with her, and that your own department knows about this and hasn’t done shit. And that he killed his wife in retaliation and pinned the whole mess on her and the bodyguard.”
“Killed her?” Breen’s eyes shone. “In retaliation for what?”
“In retaliation for conspiring with Tess. Liz wanted out.
She was coming clean with us. Stratton did it. To get rid of her and get the heat off himself.”
“One thing I still don’t get,” Breen said, nodding cautiously. “You said my department already knew about this relationship, between Tess and Stratton? You want to explain?”
“Dennis Stratton was seen there, at the Brazilian Court, with Tess on several occasions. I saw a golf tee in his home that matched one found at the murder scene. I ran his picture by the staff of the hotel myself. The PBPD has all this.”
Breen’s blank expression took Ellie by surprise.
“This shouldn’t come as a surprise, Carl. You didn’t get this information passed along?”
“You think if we had, we wouldn’t have followed up on something like that? You don’t think we would’ve been all over Stratton? Lawson, too. I assure you, he hates the arrogant SOB as much as you do.” Breen screwed his eyes into her. “Just who was it that supposedly passed along this information?”
Ellie didn’t answer. She stared back at him just as blankly. A hollow, sick feeling had swelled in her chest. Everything changed. She had the sensation she was sliding, slowly at first, then faster, against her will.
“Forget it, Carl,” she muttered, rewinding everything she knew about this case, back to its very first moments.
Everything had just changed.
Chapter 86
IT WAS A LONG, quiet flight back to Florida. Agent Rodriguez and I barely exchanged a word. I had buried my brother. I’d maybe seen my father for the last time. And I was bringing something back with me as well. Something pretty earthshaking.
The name of the person who’d killed my brother and my closest friends.
As I came through the Jetway at the Palm Beach airport, I spotted Ellie waiting for me. She was standing apart from the usual crowd of giddy family members welcoming their relatives to the Florida sunshine. She was still on duty, I guess, dressed in a black pantsuit, her hair tied back in a ponytail. She smiled as she saw me, but she looked as though it were the end of a stressful day.
Hector Rodriguez bent down and took off the monitoring device strapped to my ankle. He shook my hand and wished me luck. “You’re back to being the FBI’s problem now.”
For a second, Ellie and I just stood there. I could see her reading the stress in my eyes. “You okay?”