The Dead Room

49

Darby felt cold all over as she collected her things from the female guard. She was dimly aware of the woman speaking, making a joke to Billy Biceps about how everything must’ve gone well with Zeke ’cause the doc still had both her ears, ha-ha. Darby forced a smile, thanked the guards and stepped into a cool, bright corridor echoing with murmured conversations.

The rational part of her, which had been oddly quiet all this time, spoke up. You actually believe everything Ezekiel has told you.

A statement, not a question. Did she believe everything? She didn’t want to believe any of it, but a good majority of the things he had told her – like Special Agent Alan, for example – were true. Some of the other things he had said clambered around the truth – too goddamn close to it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the man didn’t fit the mould of someone suffering from a schizoaffective disorder. The delusion about the room being bugged should have dominated the entire conversation. His paranoid thoughts should have been rampant, but the man’s speech had remained remarkably coherent. He had answered each of her questions, had easily moved from one topic to the next without confusion and – and – had shown a remarkable degree of empathy when speaking about her father.

And what about her father? At thirty-nine, her memories of Thomas ‘Big Red’ McCormick had started to blur and fade. As it was, she didn’t have many memories to start with. She had barely seen him during her childhood, Big Red having to work a tremendous amount of overtime while Sheila attended night school for her nursing degree. A few random snapshots came to her – clutching her father’s big leg on the subway as the crowded T-car rocked-and-rolled its way down the track; Big Red cracking peanut shells in his long, callused fingers at Fenway Park.

But, beyond her father’s love of the Red Sox, Frank Sinatra records, good bourbon and cigars, she didn’t have the first idea about what had made Big Red tick. He had been an unnaturally quiet man, more prone to listening than to talking. And he was always observing the world around him. In her memories he seemed constantly exhausted.

Kendra introduced me to your father… She loved your father very much.

I admired him greatly.

Big Red was a remarkable man. One of a kind, you could say. I regret what happened to him every single day.

Darby opened the main doors. The afternoon sky was a bright, hard blue and free of clouds, the air still unbearably hot and humid. She looked behind her, having the absurd feeling that Ezekiel had followed her outside.

Lieutenant Warner, sitting behind the wheel of her car, had parked in one of the spaces reserved for police. He had a good view of the entire car park and the prison’s front doors. He saw her and pulled out of his spot.

She didn’t want him behind the wheel, she didn’t want him in her car. She wanted to drive alone, in silence, to process what had just happened.

Warner was on his mobile.

‘Commissioner,’ he said after she shut the door. He handed over his phone as he drove off, heading for the exit. ‘Go ahead, it’s safe to talk.’

Chadzynski wanted an update. It took Darby a moment to collect her thoughts. She spoke slowly, concentrating on her words. The commissioner listened without interruption.

Darby finished talking. A long silence followed. For a moment, she thought the connection had died.

‘Commissioner?’

‘I’m here. I was… I’m still trying to process what you’ve told me.’ Another pause. ‘You’re suggesting that the head of the Irish mafia, a man responsible for the deaths of countless numbers of people as well as the disappearances of several young women, was a Federal agent.’

‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just telling you what Ezekiel told me.’

‘But just the idea of it… it’s… Darby, Frank Sullivan was a vicious psychopath. He killed Boston cops, state troopers – he killed people from Boston and Charlestown and God only knows who else. I have stacks of files of unsolved homicides that are believed to be linked to Sullivan. I’ve always heard rumours about the FBI trying to place an undercover agent inside the Irish and Italian mafia, but if what Ezekiel said is true, it means the Federal government not only placed an undercover agent inside the Irish mob, they somehow made him the goddamn head of it. We’re talking about a man who’s a mass murderer. It means the Federal government is implicit in the murders and disappearances of, what, nearly a hundred people? Do you realize the magnitude of what you’re suggesting?’

Unfortunately, she did. Not only had the Boston FBI – maybe even the entire Federal organization – sanctioned Sullivan’s actions, they had also helped to cover them up.

Your father knew what he was up against, Ezekiel had told her. Big Red heard the tapes, knew what these Boston Feds were doing, the names of the cops and state troopers Sullivan had on his payroll.

‘Do you believe Ezekiel?’ Chadzynski asked.

‘I do. Even if I wanted to dismiss it as some sort of paranoid schizophrenic story, Kendra Sheppard did, in fact, visit him. Ezekiel knew her real name. Knew where she was living, knew about her son – he knows too many details for it to be some sort of made-up story. And why ask to speak to me after all this time?’

I didn’t call you to help me, Ezekiel had said. I called to warn you about these so-called Federal agents.

‘The timeline bothers me,’ Darby said. ‘Kendra Sheppard’s parents were murdered in April of 1983. She disappears, then my father is shot in May. Sullivan and these Federal agents – how many are these again?’

‘Four,’ Chadzynski said. ‘Here they are, on the Boston Globe’s website. Peter Alan, Jack King, Anthony Frissora and Steve White. There’s an interesting note in the article. They were all assigned to the Boston task force set up to dismantle both the Irish and Italian mafias. I’m starting to gather information from our files to see what we can find out.’

Sullivan and his Federal friends, they were Charlestown’s version of the Gestapo.

‘Ezekiel mentioned Jack King,’ Darby said.

‘Since we found Peter Alan’s fingerprints on the database, it makes me wonder if the FBI didn’t know what was occurring in their Boston office. If headquarters was involved with the cover-up, I’d assume they’d wipe the prints off the database. They could do it easily, since they own it.’

‘We won’t know anything for sure until we find those audiotapes and whatever else Kendra Sheppard had.’

‘And Mr Ezekiel didn’t give you any indication as to where this evidence might be?’

‘No. For all I know these… this group of dead Federal agents might already have it.’

‘We’ll have to go on the assumption that they don’t. I don’t know if Mr Warner told you, but he found a listening device mounted underneath your dash, right below the steering column. It’s the same model as the one he recovered from my office. He also found a GPS tracking unit. Are you coming back to work this afternoon?’

‘I’m heading back to the lab.’

‘Good. Mr Warner is going to sweep your office and the lab.’

‘I don’t see how these people could gain access.’

‘Most likely, they couldn’t. But I can’t dismiss the possibility that these men have inside help. We have to limit our circle of trust.’

Sullivan had plenty of your people on his payroll… I’m sure they’re still out there.

‘I agree,’ Darby said.

‘Now I have two matters to discuss with you. The first involves Michelle Baxter. She’s disappeared.’

Darby closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘After I left the hospital, I sent a detective to go speak with her,’ Chadzynski said. ‘The door was unlocked. No sign of a struggle, although the detective told me it was impossible to tell, given the apartment’s state of disarray. The detective didn’t find a handbag, suitcase or any other sort of luggage, so it’s possible the Baxter woman decided to leave town.’

‘Does this detective have a name?’

‘It’s someone from Anti-Corruption.’

Chadzynski didn’t elaborate.

‘Please don’t take it personally, Darby. It’s not a matter of trust, it’s protocol. I have to safeguard their identities. Any information I receive will be forwarded to you through me or Mr Warner.’

‘I understand.’

‘What do you know about Detective Pine?’

‘I know he used to be my father’s partner. Then Artie passed the detective’s exam and went to Boston to work homicide.’

‘His territory was South Boston. Two officers from Anti-Corruption have just started sorting through Pine’s old police reports, but suffice to say that a good majority of the homicides Pine investigated have at least one thread that leads back to Frank Sullivan. Before that, Detective Pine was involved with TPF during the forced busing –’

‘Excuse me for interrupting, Commissioner, but what’s TPF?’

‘Tactical Patrol Force. The unit no longer exists. It was disbanded during the late seventies after repeated complaints of officers using excessive force. You’re probably much too young to remember this, but back in ’65 Massachusetts passed the Elimination of Racial Imbalance Law. The Boston school committee, comprised mostly of white Irish Catholics, had successfully blocked the law through a decade of litigation. Then, in ’74, a Federal court judge ordered the desegregation of Boston’s public schools. We had riots all over the city – President Ford delivered a TV speech urging Boston to cooperate.’

Darby knew about the riots – had read about them during a high school history class.

‘During the first few weeks of school, the TPF was asked to protect buses delivering African-Americans to Boston schools,’ Chadzynski said. ‘Crowds of white Irish men and women threw bricks, rocks, you name it, through bus windows, at the students and TPF officers. Add to that the number of African-American groups there protesting. Needless to say, tensions were high and several officers were a bit too liberal with their nightsticks. Arthur Pine allegedly kicked an African-American man to death. I say allegedly only because the witness who came forward claiming to have seen Pine do this suddenly disappeared.’

Ezekiel said Big Red had put him in a hotel. Alone.

He said he had someone watching the hotel – someone he trusted.

Had her father trusted Artie?

‘I’m not saying Pine is involved with what’s happening now,’ Chadzynski said, ‘but, given what I’ve uncovered, I want Anti-Corruption to take a closer look at him. Until he’s been properly vetted, I don’t want you feeding him any information about these cases.’

‘And when Artie calls me, what do you want me to tell him?’

‘Tell him the truth. Tell him Lieutenant Warner has taken over the investigation. If Detective Pine has any questions, he’s to contact Mr Warner. He’s the lead on this now. You’re to funnel all information through him. When are you planning on speaking with Mr Cooper?’

‘As soon as I get back to the lab.’ Darby felt a cold place in her stomach. ‘Do I need to bring Lieutenant Warner with me?’

‘No. I’ll have him question Mr Cooper at a later point here in my office. You’re to call me after you’ve spoken with him, then file a report and give it to Mr Warner.’

‘Understood.’

Chadzynski hung up. Darby handed the phone back to Warner. He slipped it inside his pocket without taking his eyes off the road. He didn’t speak, just kept driving. She could see the tall buildings of downtown Boston looming in the distance. She stared at them and for some reason was reminded of a quote from one of her father’s favourite baseball players, the great pitcher Satchel Paige: ‘Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you.’