The Wrong Girl

70

She was right.

Had to be. Where had Hec Underhill been all those times she tried to find him? “He’s always out,” the guy in the photo lab kept telling her. Hec obviously knew she was working on the Callaberry Street story. He’d known exactly which house Brianna Tillson’s body was in. Knew she was looking for pictures of the bad guy. Knew she’d been banished from the paper. He had her cell phone number and could easily have made the threatening calls. And she herself had told him she was going to Connecticut with Tuck. But why would-

“Hec!” Jane kept her voice cheery, waving, as she and Jake approached. He had those cameras strung around his neck. Keys in his hand. She needed to see where he lived. See if he had a camera pointed at her windows. Problem was, Jake still thought Hec was a good guy, working with the cops, and there was no time now to explain her theory. She’d play it by ear.

Hec turned, standing by his car, out of the glow of streetlight. A dark shadow. But Jane recognized him easily enough. She heard Jake’s phone beep again, and this time he took it out of his pocket.

“Hey, Hec,” Jane began. “What brings you here this time of night? Big story?”

Message from DeLuca. “Photo,” the subject line said. Photo? Must be the picture of Leonard Perl, finally, from the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles. Jake opened it with one thumb. Hec Underhill was a new freelance Register photog, he remembered. And hadn’t he just seen him at-where was it?

Those cameras around his neck. Right. The pushy guy who’d shown up at Lillian Finch’s right after they’d found Brannigan. Jake had been on his way to Jane’s supposed breakin. He’d directed the guy to Hennessey. Forgotten about him. What’s to remember?

Jane was already chatting with Underhill. They were colleagues, of course. Jake checked his phone, where the faxed, then e-mailed, photo from DeLuca was slowly downloading.

Keeping half an eye on Jane, he looked at the emerging photo of Leonard Perl.

Then at Hec Underhill.

Then at the photo.

Same person.

Why was Jake staring at his cell phone? Jane had to keep up the chit-chat with Hec until Jake joined her. Hec was blathering about some news story he’d been shooting, complaining again about his imminent retirement and his crap assignments.

Jane nodded, pretending to be fascinated. If Hec was the surveillance guy, he could have broken into her apartment, somehow. He wouldn’t tape himself! He could have even watched, among the bystanders, as she raced into her building the morning of the breakin.

A breakin that had happened.

Hec was even wearing a Celtics hat. But he couldn’t have been the guy in the black pickup, because he’d talked to her on the phone from the Register. Damn. What was taking Jake so long?

“Yeah, but you know, the news must go on.” Jane decided to risk it. “In fact, did you hear there was a breakin at my apartment?”

“Yeah. I live right there.” Hec pointed to the brownstone. “Police have any idea who did it?”

Gotcha, Jane thought. She was tempted to say yes, just to see what he’d do, but gestured toward his apartment instead. “Oh, interesting. Did you see the cops from your apartment that morning?”

“Hey, Jane.” Jake stepped up to them, close, almost putting himself between her and Hec. He was holding his cell phone with one hand, with the other adjusting something under his jacket.

“Hey, Jake,” she said, moving aside. “Hec Underhill, do you know Detective Jake Brogan? Jake, this is-”

“We met at Margolin Street, if I’m not mistaken. Hold this for a second, Jane, okay?” Jake gave her his cell and stuck out a hand to shake Hec’s.

Why would he give her his phone? She glanced at the screen. It had gone to black.

“Hec Underhill?”

Jake had not let go of Hec’s hand. And with the other he was bringing out-what?

Underhill tried to pull his hand away. That wasn’t gonna happen.

“Hec Underhill?” Jake said again. He flipped open his handcuffs, snapped the first side over Underhill’s left wrist, then with one motion turned him and clicked the other so Underhill’s hands were cuffed behind his back. His cameras still hung over his chest. “Or should I say-Leonard Perl? You’re under arrest for the murder of Brianna Tillson. We know about Maggie Gunnison. We know about the baby. We know about Finn. And Ricker.”

Which wasn’t exactly 100 percent true, but there was time to find out.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say-”

“I demand a lawyer,” Perl interrupted.

“Brilliant,” Jake said. This explained why Perl had never answered their calls to Florida when they’d tried to contact him. He’d been here in Boston. Killing Brianna Tillson. “And if your lawyer forgets to tell you, I’m pretty sure kidnapping and murder are both life-sentence felonies. After I finish informing you of your rights, feel free to use the phone downtown. Your taxpayer dollars at work.”

Leonard Perl? The landlord? Hec? As Jane worked to put the puzzle pieces together, Jake was finishing his recitation of the Miranda rights. But Perl lived in Florida, didn’t he? Absentee landlord. This was Hec Underhill. The phone? She punched the button. Up popped what looked like a driver’s license photo. Florida DMV. Leonard Perl’s name.

But it was a picture of Hec Underhill.

Holy sh-And what did Jake mean by kidnapping? And Jake said Finn. Did he mean Finn Eberhardt? Before Jake took the guy away-whoever he was-she had a few questions of her own.

“Jake, I bet Hec’s the surveillance guy. Perl, I mean. Right? He didn’t report himself to the police, see? When he got into my apartment? Probably simply turned off the camera or something. He knew I was looking into Callaberry, and Brianna Tillson’s death. He’s the one who called me, Jake! The nasty calls. Hey. Were you in my building last night, too?”

“Lawyer,” Underhill-Perl said. “And just so you know, Miss Hotshot, the Register’s about to lay off a bunch of people. You heard it here first.”

What a skeeve. She handed Jake his phone. Then understood the final puzzle piece. Underhill-or, Perl-knew what kind of car she drove.

“Hec? You took my CAT? Are you kidding me? You’re the guy who handed her to Tuck. And then put her collar in my car.” Total skeeve. “Tuck had left the car open, right?”

“Good luck finding a new job,” Perl said. “And don’t get old. No one hires you if you’re old.”

“Nice guy.” Jake guided Perl toward his cruiser, talking over his shoulder at her. “Call me, Jane. Sorry we had to cut this short.”

“Hey. Wait.” Jane trotted after him, already composing the story in her head. The arrest of Tillson’s killer? A Register freelancer? The paper’s lawyers were going to explode. But she had the headline.

No longer tired, she pulled out her phone, ready to speed-dial Alex and fill him in. So much for her terror of layoffs. This was a big fat story. Who cared how late it was.

“Jake? I need a statement. Did you say ‘kidnapping’? And Maggie Gunnison? From DFS? What’s this all about? Sounds like a huge story.”

“Ah, maybe so. But not written by you, Janey girl.” Jake stuffed Perl into the backseat of his cruiser, slammed the door. Touched her on the nose with one finger. “Because unless he decides to confess, you’ll have to testify at this asshole’s trial.”

“Dispatch, this is Brogan.”

Jake shifted into drive as the radio crackled to life. Perl slouched in the backseat, in the same spot where baby Diane Marie had slept only a few hours before. Perl was more the type. “I am en route with a suspect in custody, per the BOLO on Leonard Perl. You can cancel that BOLO, dispatch, as of…” Jake checked the dashboard readout. “Two-oh-five A.M.”

He needed to call DeLuca. Imagined where he might be. Poor guy wasn’t getting much Kat McMahan time. But he’d want to hear about this. He punched in the speed dial as dispatch responded.

“Copy that, Detective. We’ll make HQ aware.”

“Jake?” DeLuca’s phone voice sounded groggy. “Where are you, for crap’s sake?”

“With Leonard Perl, on the way to HQ,” Jake said. “I’m about to tell him what we know about Maggie Gunnison and baby Diane Marie. Maybe he’ll give up Finn. Before Finn gives him up.”

Jake checked his rearview, gave Perl a cheery wave, hoping he was taking it all in. Whoever Finn was, Jake didn’t say.

“So. D. If you’re not-otherwise occupied-thought you might like to join us downtown.”