Among Thieves

Chapter Thirty-Three

Devon ’s second bail hearing was scheduled for two-thirty on Friday afternoon. Finn arrived at one o’clock to talk to the clerk to make sure Devon would be called first. He didn’t want to take any chance that an earlier case would get bogged down and Devon would be returned to jail without the issue even being heard. It was a little tricky; he was calling in a serious favor from the clerk to set the schedule. Still, he had made it a practice of treating all the clerks at the courthouse well-a trick he’d learned when he first started out as a public defender-and they appreciated it. Judge Platt’s clerk had been predisposed in Finn’s favor ever since he’d given him his Red Sox tickets on the first-base line so he could take his son to a game on his birthday. It wasn’t a bribe, strictly speaking; there was no quid pro quo, and Finn would never ask for preferential treatment on the substance of a case. It did allow him to cut some corners on procedural issues, however. There was no question that what he was asking now would burn the last of any goodwill the tickets had earned him.

Kristin Kelley, the assistant district attorney who had argued at the arraignment, was not in the courtroom that morning, which was a blessing. Instead, the young man who had been with her was there, along with a woman who appeared even younger than he. Just looking at her made Finn feel old, but he banished the thought and focused on the argument at hand.

Judge Platt entered the courtroom at nine twenty-five, looking as bored with his existence as ever. “Call the first case,” he grumbled after everyone was seated.

“Case number 08-CR-2677, Commonwealth versus Devon Malley! Come forward and be heard!” the bailiff shouted.

Devon was brought in. He was wearing his prison fatigues, and he was chained at the wrists and ankles. Platt had his head down and was looking through case files as Devon entered, and it took a moment for him to look up. When he did, though, his forehead wrinkled in disgust. He called his clerk over to the bench, and they engaged in an animated discussion for a moment before the judge waved him away.

Platt turned his attention to Finn. “Mr. Finn, so nice to have you back in my courtroom,” he said. “Are we going for two out of three falls today?”

“No, Your Honor,” Finn said. “Before we begin, my client would appreciate the opportunity to address the court briefly, if possible?”

Platt glared at Devon. “That so, Mr. Malley?”

Finn nudged Devon. “Yes, Your Honor,” Devon said.

Platt crinkled his nose, as if he smelled something offensive. “If you must, go ahead,” he said.

Devon cleared his throat. Finn had rehearsed the speech with his client the night before, but still his palms were sweating as Devon began. “First,” Devon said, “I want to say I’m sorry to Mr. Finn, my lawyer. He and I have known each other for a long time, and I got mad at him the other day. I shouldn’t have hit him, and I’m very sorry about that.” Devon paused, looking at the judge. Finn searched for any change in the man’s demeanor, but could sense none.

“Second,” Devon continued, “I want to say I’m sorry to the bailiffs and the others who were in the courtroom the other day. I know what I did put them in danger, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“Is that it?” Platt asked.

“No, Judge. I want to say I’m sorry to you. This is your courtroom, and I disrupted it.”

“You disrespected it,” Platt interjected.

Devon nodded reluctantly. “I didn’t mean it to have anything to do with you, Judge. I didn’t mean to show disrespect, but I understand that that was how it looked. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re goddamned right it won’t,” Platt grumbled. His voice had no conviction, though, and Finn could sense that he was slipping back into his habitual disinterest. “Mr. Finn, I believe we were discussing bail when your client interrupted us, is that right?”

“That’s correct,” Finn said.

The young assistant district attorney stood. “If I may address this issue, Your Honor?” he said.

Platt peered over his glasses down at the man. “Mr. Hendricks, do you have anything to add that Ms. Kelley did not address the other day?”

“Only that in light of Mr. Malley’s outburst the other day-”

“I was here, Mr. Hendricks. If you are about to instruct me on the weight I should give that in determining bail, then zip it. You don’t need to remind me of Mr. Malley’s behavior. Do you have anything else-anything new-to add?”

Hendricks’s mouth moved silently for a moment, as if he was willing the words to come. “No, Your Honor,” he said finally. “I don’t.”

“Didn’t think so,” Platt said. He looked at Finn. “Counselor, I assume you’ve been wandering these halls for long enough to know when to keep your mouth shut?”

“I have, Your Honor. Thank you.”

Platt looked at Devon. “Mr. Malley, at the time when you assaulted your attorney the other day, I was about to set a very low bail. Hell, I was even thinking about granting your release on your own recognizance. Now, because of your outburst, I am considering not setting bail at all.” The speech seemed rehearsed, but as the words came out of his mouth, Finn could feel the last of Platt’s anger slip out with them. His indignation was gone, and now he just seemed tired. He took a deep, weary breath. “Never mind; what’s the point,” he said. “Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars. Bailiff, call the next case.”

The courtroom broke into motion. The bailiff shouted out the case number of the next matter, and another defense attorney stepped up to the bar, putting his briefcase down on defense counsel’s table. Another bailiff moved over and took Devon by the elbow, and Finn stepped back from the table. Devon looked at him.

“Don’t worry,” Finn said. “I have a bondsman lined up. It’ll cost five grand to post. I’ve got the money ready, and I’ll cover it.”

“Thanks, Finn. I’ll pay you back.”

“Goddamned right you will,” Finn said. “I’ll have you posted in ten minutes. It’ll take another hour to process you out, but I’ll meet you out front.”

“Okay,” Devon said.

Then he was gone, and Finn was standing alone in a room full of people. The hearing had been the easy part, he knew. From here on, it was going to get a lot harder.

The man who had abducted Sally repeated the same ritual over and over. Every few hours he would come down the stairs to give her a sip of water and a bite to eat. There was no kindness; he showed no more feeling toward her than he might toward a plant he was watering. If anything, the longer she was there, the less humanity he seemed to have.

Sally had changed, too. She was now at the point where she might have preferred dehydration to the periodic maintenance. At first, her situation had seemed unreal. That changed when the man brought the body downstairs.

She’d seen that there was someone else in the house when he hurried her through toward the basement, but the man with the dark hair had pushed her downstairs too quickly for her to get a good look at the other man. Now she’d had more of a look than she’d ever wanted, and she knew that if she lived through the ordeal, the man’s face would haunt every minute of sleep she might manage to have.

She couldn’t tell what was happening when she heard her captor open the door the night before, grunting his exertion. She could hear him dragging something down the stairs, and it sounded as if the planks would snap as the weight slammed down, step by step. She knew it was a dead body by the time it reached the bottom of the stairs.

Now he lay there, not more than ten feet from her. The man with the black hair hadn’t even bothered to turn the body over on its stomach or close the eyes; he lay on his side, frozen in death, staring at her. The tongue dangled from the lips, dark and synthetic, like a rubber toy hanging stiff and thick. She could see a deep wound on the chest, and the slice through the neck caused the head to tilt back, revealing what looked like a huge second mouth.

It was starting to smell.

The body chased away any doubt of the danger she was in. She understood fully now that if she was to survive this, it was going to take all of her focus and concentration. She thought briefly about giving up; hoping for death. She’d led a life thick with disappointment and despair, and it wouldn’t be unreasonable for her to call it quits now. After all, hadn’t she suffered enough?

The thought was fleeting, though. If anything, the reminder of what death was-brutal, and lonely, and final-sharpened her desire for life. As she lay there, plastered to the cold, unforgiving cellar floor, she made a vow to herself that she would never again let anyone determine the course of her life. She was done with grown-ups; done with parents; done with relying on others. From now on, she would rely only on herself. That thought gave her hope for the future. That thought strengthened her will to live.

Finn went straight to the clerk’s office at the courthouse once the bail hearing was over. As he walked, he placed a call on his cell phone to a bail bondsman and confirmed the amount needed to secure Devon ’s release. The bondsman was one with whom Finn dealt regularly-a colorful character named Shifty LaRue, whose interests extended to nightclubs and parking lots-and he sent over a messenger with all the forms needed. Finn paid the messenger with a check written on the firm’s account, and within a half hour Devon was brought down in street clothes. He was sweating despite the fact that it was in the fifties outside and there was a chill in the courthouse.

“What now?” Devon asked.

“First, we need to deal with finances,” Finn said.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Devon,” Finn said. “I just laid out five thousand dollars to get you free. That’s on top of nearly twenty thousand we’ve got sunk into this case in fees so far. Plus, it’s going to get more expensive as the case proceeds.”

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ kidding, right?” Devon said. “My daughter’s been kidnapped; we’ve got to get her back.”

“And we will. I’ve been on the outside, and my people and I have been dealing with this shit for a week-shit that you knew about and didn’t share with us. For Christ’s sake, Devon, you put me and my people in harm’s way. My associate ended up in the hospital because of you, and this psychopath almost fucked up her pregnancy.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the money. That’s what you said.”

“That was before. I changed my mind; now I want to get paid.”

“I told you, you’re gonna get paid,” Devon said. “But first we get Sally back.”

Finn shook his head. “Bullshit. We get paid now, or you’re on your own. Period. That’s not negotiable, Devon. Hell, I don’t know where you’re gonna be tomorrow. I’m not gonna get stiffed. You say you can pay? Prove it.”

Devon put his hands in his pockets and looked away. “Fine,” he said. “You want your fuckin’ money, I’ll get you your fuckin’ money.”

“Good.”

“But then you’re in this. To the end.”

“As long as we get paid, we’re in this to the end,” Finn agreed.

Devon hesitated a moment. Then he said, “We gotta go to my apartment.”

Finn put his hand out toward the courthouse exit. “You lead the way,” he said.

Kozlowski was waiting for them outside. He’d spent the morning and the first part of the afternoon getting Lissa released from the hospital and set up in her apartment.

“How’s she doing?” Finn asked.

“She’ll be okay,” Kozlowski replied. “I told her to keep the door locked and not let anyone in unless it was you or me. I also told her to keep the phone in her hand and 911 on speed dial.”

“Kilbranish isn’t going after her,” Finn said. “He wants Devon.” He looked at his client and saw the man shiver.

“Where to?” Kozlowski asked.

“ Devon ’s apartment,” Finn replied. “We’re gonna get paid. Then we can deal with getting Sally back.”

Kozlowski nodded. “My car’s in the lot around the corner,” he said.

“You don’t think the three of us can fit in the MG?”

“Fuck you.”

“Right.”

Finn left his car parked, and the three of them headed to the public lot on State Street where Kozlowski had left his car. It was a giant gas-guzzling Chevy Caprice that was at least ten years old. It had enough room in it for a tennis match, though, and even Finn had to admit it was better suited to their needs that day.

No one spoke on the ride to Devon ’s apartment. Finn hadn’t been there since the day he’d picked up Sally. It was hard to believe that was only four days ago. Since then, it seemed as though his entire world had changed, and not for the better.

Kozlowski parked his car in front of the apartment, and they all climbed out. The apartment hadn’t changed. It was still a rathole. Maybe he could take some solace in the fact that the rest of the world went on unaware of the chaos going on all around it. Maybe that provided the only semblance of stability there was in the universe.

Devon pulled out his keys and opened the door. As soon as they stepped in, they all smelled it. It was impossible to miss-the unmistakable stench of rot and decay. “Holy shit, I think I’m gonna throw up,” Devon said.

Kozlowski pulled his gun out. “I’ll go first,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” Finn replied. He hung back as Kozlowski moved into the apartment. There wasn’t much to search. There was a living room in front; in the 1920s, when the place had been built, it had probably been called a parlor. There was nothing amiss there, though. At the back of the living room there was a door and a hallway.

“Where do those lead?” Kozlowski asked Devon.

“The door goes to the kitchen,” he said. “The hallway goes to the bedrooms and a bathroom.”

“How many bedrooms?”

“Two.”

“Anything else back there?”

“A closet, but that’s it.”

Kozlowski held his gun at the ready, with two hands, pointed at the ceiling. He moved across the living room to the hallway. For such a large man, it was amazing the way he could travel without any sound, Finn thought. “Stay here,” he said.

Finn looked at Devon. “We’ll stay here,” he said.

Kozlowski disappeared down the hallway. It seemed as if he was gone for a long time, though it was probably only a minute or so. He came back out and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. He motioned toward the kitchen door and gave a signal for Finn and Devon to remain where they were. He slid along the wall, his gun still at the ready. Then he swung around the corner, pointing the pistol in front of him as he went, and disappeared through the door. A moment later he yelled, “Found it!”

Finn glanced at Devon and then the two of them moved toward the kitchen. The stench intensified as they approached the door, until it grew overpowering. Then they stepped into the room.

The kitchen was small, little more than a galley, and Kozlowski was standing in the middle of it, making it difficult to see. Moving to the side, though, Finn could see what was causing the stench.

The refrigerator door was standing open, and there was food on the counter. Flies buzzed around a smorgasbord of hamburger meat and ham that had been left out.

“That fuckin’ bitch,” Devon said. He moved around Kozlowski to get a better look. “Fuckin’ Shelly. She did this on purpose.”

“Probably,” Finn said.

Kozlowski opened a window. “It can be cleaned.”

“I know, but still,” Devon said.

“You left her with your mess for a couple of days,” Finn pointed out. “She probably figured turnabout was fair play.”

“Fuck,” Devon said.

“You’ve got bigger problems than this,” Kozlowski pointed out. That brought them all back to reality.

“The money,” Finn said to Devon.

Devon pulled some paper towels off a roll on the counter and swept some of the mess into a nearby garbage can. “This is fucked up,” he said, holding his head away from the smell.

“I’m serious, Devon,” Finn said. “We don’t get paid, and we don’t move on from here.”

Devon threw the paper towel into the garbage can. “You’re a bloodless shit,” he said. “You wait here. I’ll be right back. It’s in back.”

Finn shook his head. “Do we look stupid?”

“I swear to God, it’s in back,” Devon said. “I just don’t want you to see where.”

“That’s too bad,” Finn said. Devon hesitated. “All we want is what you owe us, but we’re not letting you out of our sight until this is settled. I don’t give a shit whether you trust us or not. If you want to get your daughter back, we’re doing this right now.”

“Fine,” Devon said at last. “Knock yourself out.” He walked out of the kitchen and around into the hallway. As Finn and Kozlowski followed, Finn took a good look at the place for the first time. As bad as it looked from the outside, it got worse the deeper into the apartment he traveled. The living room was tiny, and the furniture was fraying and stained. The back hallway had been carpeted sometime in the 1950s, from the look of it, and there were places where it had worn through entirely. Everywhere the walls were stained and shedding paint. Finn shuddered to think of Sally living there.

Devon walked halfway down the hallway and then turned into the bathroom. Finn and Kozlowski would have followed him in, but there wasn’t enough space for two grown men inside. They kept an eye on him from the hallway.

Devon stood on the edge of the tub and reached up to what looked like a vent in the ceiling. He pushed the vent cover up gently, then slid it to the side. Reaching into the opening in the ceiling, he withdrew a sack. He held the sack in front of his body, away from Finn and Kozlowski so that they couldn’t see. After a moment, he reached up again and replaced the sack, then slid the vent cover back into place.

He stepped down off the tub and walked back out into the hallway. Holding out his hands, he said, “There’s thirty-five thousand there.” Finn looked at the stack of cash. It was tightly packed, wrapped in orange bands denoting five-thousand-dollar bundles. There were seven bundles. “That’s five thousand for the bond, twenty thousand for the work you’ve done so far, and another ten to cover the next bit. That gets you all in,” Devon said.

Finn slapped the money out of his hands. The bundles fell to the floor, and Devon reached for them instinctively. “What the fuck!” he yelled.

“You stupid, lying motherfucker,” Finn said.

“What? Count it, it’s real!”

“I don’t give a shit about the money, you stupid asshole.” Finn reached out and grabbed Devon by the shirt and threw him up against the hallway wall.

“What do you mean?” Devon ’s voice was cracking, and he looked confused as he tried to wrestle away. Finn held his neck, though. “What the fuck are we here for?”

“Where are the paintings, Devon?”

Devon ’s confusion morphed to panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Still holding on to Devon ’s neck, Finn leaned back and punched his client in the face. Devon crumpled to the floor. “Don’t give me that shit, Devon. We know.”

Devon jackknifed on the hallway floor in front of Finn, his hands covering his head. “Know what?” he choked out. “I don’t understand!”

“Cut the shit, Devon, or I’ll turn this over to Koz here. He was a cop for twenty-five years; you don’t think he’s got some experience getting people like you to talk?” He knelt down, putting his face right up next to Devon ’s. “We know you were the one who offered to sell the paintings. You gave potential buyers photographs and paint chips to prove the offer was real. That means you know where they are. Now you’re going to tell us.”

“Fuck you!” Devon yelled. “You don’t know shit!”

“I know that you live in a shithole roaches wouldn’t set foot in for all the fuckin’ mess. I know you haven’t been doing any steady work for Murphy or Ballick or anyone else for years. I know that you just reached into your ceiling and pulled out thirty-five thousand dollars without batting an eye, and if you’d had that kind of money for any amount of time, you wouldn’t be living here. And I know that the IRA paid someone one hundred thousand dollars for confirmation on the paintings. It doesn’t take a fuckin’ rocket scientist to put all this together, Devon. Are you really this stupid?”

Devon was still lying on the floor. It seemed as though the physical pain had subsided, but he looked utterly defeated.

“I also know that this Kilbranish out there has got your daughter, and he’s going to kill her if he doesn’t get these paintings. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“It means everything to me!” Devon yelled. “It’s the only goddamned thing I care about. I’m giving myself up. I’ll trade myself for her, and I’ll take the pain! Even death!”

Finn shook his head in confusion. “But don’t you understand? You don’t have to. He doesn’t want you, he wants the paintings. If we give those to him, he’s not gonna give a shit about you anymore.”

“Fuck you,” Devon said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Finn looked at Kozlowski. He was staring at Devon, his eyes narrowed. It was clear that he had no better insight than Finn about what was going on.

“Where are the paintings, Devon?” Finn asked again at last.

Devon looked up at him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.