Family Honor

Chapter 31

Cathal Kragan had no record. Brian had never heard of him. Neither had anybody in the organized crime unit. The name meant nothing to Millicent. Using Spike’s computer I checked out Brock Patton on the Internet.

“Be careful,” Spike said. “You download the wrong thing and you’ll be in the middle of my sex life.”

“At least you have one,” I said.

“We feeling a little deprived, are we?”

“Maybe just a little.”

“Too bad I’m not in your program,” Spike said. “Think of the symphony we could make.”

“It’s always something,” I said. “What’s your password?”

He told me and I punched it in and went online. After much more diddling around than the computer ads would allow you to imagine, I located Brock Patton.

He was in among all the listings on the planet that contained the words Brock or Patton. I got a zillion articles on General Patton, and several on a football player named Brock Marion, and quite a few on an actor named Brock Peters, and a politician named Brock, and two on a football player named Peter Brock, and another one named Stan Brock, who appeared to be Peter’s brother, and, buried among them, five or six on the guy I was actually trying to find.

Here was the CEO of MassBay Trust which was the ninth-biggest bank in the country. Before that he’d been the president of the biggest bank in Rhode Island. He had been a very active Republican fund-raiser in both Rhode Island and Massachusetts. He had served the last Republican administration as Commerce Secretary, and it was said that he would be the Republican candidate for governor in two years. He was also a world-class trap shooter, and a Harvard graduate. There was one article about Betty Patton as a ferocious fund-raiser for several deserving charities. There were no pictures of Betty Patton in the buff. There was no mention of anyone named Cathal Kragan. None of the articles mentioned a disaffected daughter.

I sat back in the swivel chair in Spike’s den and stared at the blue green screen of Spike’s seventeen-inch Sony monitor. I was alone. Spike and Millicent had taken Rosie for a walk. I had insisted that Millicent wear a hat and sunglasses. Spike said there was not much chance someone would even be cruising the South End looking for her, and if they were, they would have an even smaller chance of recognizing her. I said they might recognize Rosie and put it together. Spike said maybe I overrated Rosie’s visibility. Rosie meanwhile was jumping up in the air and turning around before she landed and biting her leash. Rosie loved to walk. She would have gone for a walk with Dracula. Millicent seemed, if not eager, at least not resistant. Anything she wasn’t resistant to was to be encouraged. Spike reminded me that Millicent would be with him and that he was both fearless and deadly. So I said okay, and Spike stuck the big Army .45 in his belt under his jacket and off they went. I had to admit I liked being alone. Maybe my judgment had swayed a little.

I had known that Brock Patton was a banker, but the fact that he might make a run for governor gave new urgency to the knowledge that his wife posed for dirty pictures, and his daughter had been, if briefly, a hooker. I could see why he would want to keep a lid on things. I could see why his wife would. But why did Cathal Kragan care? What I knew was, there was a scheme under way. Maybe about being governor, maybe about something else. But there were people willing to kill somebody in the interests of that scheme, and Betty Patton was in on it.

I could ask her, but she wouldn’t tell me and then they’d know I knew, which would make everything harder, including not getting killed. I called my answering machine on my cell phone. Even if someone were able to trace the call they wouldn’t know where I was. There was a call from Brian. There was also a call from an attorney who said he represented Brock Patton. I broke the connection and dialed Brian’s number.

“Somebody aced Bucko Meehan,” he said when I got him. “This morning, early.”

“Suspects?”

“None.”

“How?”

“In his bed. Shot in the middle of the forehead. 357 Mag. Bullet came out the back and through the mattress and buried in the floorboards under the bed.”

“Who found him?”

“Cleaning woman, had her own key. Let herself in about 9:30 this morning and there he was.”

“How nice for her,” I said.

“You know anything I don’t know?” Brian said.

“No. Somebody must have seen him talking to us,” I said.

“My guess,” Brian said. “Unless it was somebody your ex sent over.”

“No. Richie’s not a criminal,” I said.

“He comes from a criminal family,” Brian said.

“I know. But it doesn’t mean he’s one.”

“The way you tell it, he used that criminal family to squeeze Bucko for you.”

“Yes. But he wouldn’t have anyone killed. Besides, what good would that do any of us. He was our only link to Cathal Kragan.”

“And now he’s not,” Brian said.

“So maybe Richie’s an unlikely suspect.”

“Yeah, maybe he is.”

“You sound like you wish he were a suspect,” I said.

“Just trying to get something to grab hold of,” Brian said. “I’m not picking on Richie.”

“Good,” I said.

“I thought you were divorced,” Brian said.

“I am. But that doesn’t make me silly.”

“For sure,” Brian said. “You want to have dinner?”

“Let me get my book,” I said.

I got it.

“I’m open every night until 2003,” I said. “What’s good for you?”