Part 12 (1/2)
Early fall night and Wollaston Beach was packed. He waited in line at the Clam Box, watching the fuzzy television over the counter showing the Red Sox and Yankees. Final home stand of the season. As his plate came up-fried clams and fries-a seat opened up by the windows. Pure luck. He could sit and eat, watch the kids rollerblading, the parade of fit young couples walking their designer dogs. Nice to be away from the stress of the job, kick back and relax, maybe get a beer at Nostalgia, a couple doors down. at the Clam Box, watching the fuzzy television over the counter showing the Red Sox and Yankees. Final home stand of the season. As his plate came up-fried clams and fries-a seat opened up by the windows. Pure luck. He could sit and eat, watch the kids rollerblading, the parade of fit young couples walking their designer dogs. Nice to be away from the stress of the job, kick back and relax, maybe get a beer at Nostalgia, a couple doors down.
The Nextel in his pocket chirped. He looked at the screen. Luther. Luther hardly ever called, except for bad news. He pushed the connect b.u.t.ton and said, ”What's going on?”
”Richie. One of ours got shot. Junior, from Humboldt.”
”Stutter's little brother? Is he okay?”
”He didn't look good.”
”Why would anyone shoot him? He's not in the mix.” The kid was in school, not hanging on the corner.
”You're going to have to come out here, Rich. Everybody's buggin'.”
”Where are you?”
”Corner of Humboldt and Ruthven.”
”Be right there.” Zardino hopped up and made his way to the counter. For a couple quarters he bought two toasted hot dog rolls. He could stuff in his clams, slather them with tartar sauce and eat them on the ride. Tank up for the long night ahead.
It was a quick trip. Not much traffic this late. He jumped on the Expressway and took the UMa.s.s/JFK exit. Columbia Road was like a video game, dodging pedestrians popping out from behind double-parked cars, everyone switching lanes without signaling, stopping without any warning.
When he finally turned onto Seaver, the sky ahead was lit up with the glow of police lights. Strobes, wigwags, flashbacks, all filling the night sky like the aurora borealis. He parked a block away and headed toward the maze of cars angled across the street, blocking traffic. Already the crowds of curious onlookers were forming.
He found Luther in front of the Dry and Fold Laundromat, just outside the crime scene tape.
Luther had a look. Not like they hadn't seen this kind of violence before. But when Luther's eyes met his, there was something new there, maybe a sort of desperation.
”Junior's dead,” Luther told him. ”I overheard one of the cops talking, trying to locate Sergeant Figgs. They found sh.e.l.l casings: .40's.” Luther bent into him and said, ”Richie, what if the weapon isn't a stash gun? What if someone's been killing these kids?”
The thought astonished him, but why would someone do that? ”Maybe we we need to talk to Figgs.” need to talk to Figgs.”
”Hasn't shown up yet.”
”How'd you get here so quick?”
”I was in the neighborhood, visiting a client,” Luther said. ”Heard the shots fired. I couldn't have been more than a couple steps behind the shooter.”
”What'd you see?”
”A smoked-out van. Driver wasn't stressing. Van was moving at a normal speed. Most likely not connected.”
”Too bad the shooting wasn't on Blue,” Zardino said. ”What we heard about earlier at the intel meeting. Cameras would have picked up the shooter.”
”I'm more concerned about Stutter. That's the reason I called you,” Luther said. ”He'll be looking for revenge.”
”No one's seen the kid in months. We need to get to Stutter before he does something stupid.” Before he retaliated, before more kids ended up in body bags.
CHAPTER 44.
Visitors had to check in through security at One Schroeder Plaza before entering the building. Stepping around the metal detector, Connie nodded to the officer working security at the front entrance. A little after seven, Friday morning, so the lobby was pretty quiet except for the early birds grabbing their breakfast. Angel Alves was one of them, standing outside the cafeteria, holding a cup of coffee, talking with a lieutenant. Connie waited for them to split up. Alves looked like he hadn't slept. before entering the building. Stepping around the metal detector, Connie nodded to the officer working security at the front entrance. A little after seven, Friday morning, so the lobby was pretty quiet except for the early birds grabbing their breakfast. Angel Alves was one of them, standing outside the cafeteria, holding a cup of coffee, talking with a lieutenant. Connie waited for them to split up. Alves looked like he hadn't slept.
”What's up, buddy?” Connie asked. ”You look a little rough.”
”Typical evening with Wayne Mooney will do that.”
”Working with Sarge can't be good for your marriage. Everything all right with Marcy and the twins?”
”Long story,” Alves said.
”I've got a meeting with Sergeant Stone in Ballistics,” Connie changed the subject. ”Trial prep. Gun case. Miracle of miracles, they found a fingerprint on the clip. Matches the defendant.”
”Who's the defendant?” Alves was looking over Connie's shoulder, scanning the lobby.
”Nineteen-year-old kid from Dorchester. Not on anyone's radar. Got a bad record. Getting arrested with the gun made him a level three ACC. Looking at fifteen years minimum mandatory.”
”Therefore, no plea deal.”
”I offered him a seven to ten in Cedar Junction. Figures he'll roll the dice, try his luck with the jury.”
”Any issues with the case?”
”A couple. But I got it all figured out.”
”I'm sure you've already practiced your closing.”
”I always know my closing before the trial starts. Fewer surprises that way. So what's going on with the Prom Night case?”
”Connie, I don't have time right now.”
”Give me the CliffsNotes version.”
”I'll give you a quick briefing,” Alves glanced at the phone in his hand. Checking the time.
”Reports and crime scene photos.”
”All I need is Mooney catching you rifling through a homicide case file. Sarge walks in while we're talking, you came to get my advice on your gun case.”
They started down the hall toward the bank of elevators. ”You hear about the shooting last night?” Connie asked.
”Stutter Simpson's kid brother, Junior. Took two in the hat.”