Part 17 (2/2)

Nickname: RichieActivities: Stage crew, Photography ClubAmbition: To marry the girl of my dreamsFavorite Quote: The arms of night restrain both men and immortals The arms of night restrain both men and immortals.

Connie heard the bell, followed by the sounds of kids shuffling from one cla.s.s to the next, of shrill screams and laughter, the slamming of locker doors.

That quote. The other kids had things like Life is what you make it Life is what you make it and and To be half the man my father is To be half the man my father is. Zardino went for something from a cla.s.sics cla.s.s. At East Boston High? And that girl of his dreams. Was she real or imaginary?

CHAPTER 70.

Alves waited outside the cla.s.sroom in Austin Hall until her law students had filtered out. Sonya Jordan stood at the front of the room packing her bag. students had filtered out. Sonya Jordan stood at the front of the room packing her bag.

”Can I help you?” she asked without looking up.

”I'd like to talk with you about Mitch Beaulieu,” he said.

As she looked up, he saw a flash of recognition in her eyes. Then she went back to arranging her notebooks and textbook in her bag.

”I only need a few minutes of your time,” he persisted.

”I asked for a few minutes of your your time three years ago. I tried to tell you about Mitch, to explain that he wasn't capable of doing the things you believed he had done. I wanted to convince you that he was a good man, his only mistake was trusting whoever it was that set him up. You didn't want to listen then. You, Detective Alves, treated me like some dumb b.i.t.c.h girlfriend in denial of her boyfriend's criminal behavior.” time three years ago. I tried to tell you about Mitch, to explain that he wasn't capable of doing the things you believed he had done. I wanted to convince you that he was a good man, his only mistake was trusting whoever it was that set him up. You didn't want to listen then. You, Detective Alves, treated me like some dumb b.i.t.c.h girlfriend in denial of her boyfriend's criminal behavior.”

The anger in her voice stunned him into near silence. ”I'm sorry,” was all he could manage.

”Sorry doesn't cut it, Detective. You and your boss were so h.e.l.l-bent on closing your case, putting it into the solved column, that you didn't want to hear the truth. You had your man. All the better, a black man. Mitch Beaulieu was dead, and his suicide was as good as a confession. Now you come in here and think I'm going to speak with you?”

Sonya Jordan had the reputation as a fierce defender of her clients and as a brilliant but difficult lawyer. Alves had to get through to her. ”I lost someone, too. One of the victims, Robyn Stokes. My wife Marcy and I grew up with her.”

Sonya Jordan looked away for a moment. ”Marisela Alves is your wife?”

Alves nodded. ”How do you know Marcy?”

”I represented Richard Zardino in his appeals. He and I make the rounds of the area colleges and law schools, letting students know about the injustices inherent in our criminal justice system. I speak with her cla.s.ses at UMa.s.s Boston every semester. I didn't know she was married to a cop.”

Alves smarted at the pejorative word. Cop Cop. ”Opposites attract.” Alves smiled.

Sonya Jordan didn't. ”What do you want from me?”

Alves knew what he had to say. And he knew that once he said the words out loud, they could never be taken back. No matter what the collateral damage. ”I have to ask you to keep this conversation confidential, Ms. Jordan. At least for now. I think I might have been wrong about Mitch.”

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CHAPTER 71.

It was not overly efficient, but it was the best Connie could manage with his work schedule. A couple weeks ago, after he'd wrestled Zardino's yearbook away from the prim little headmaster, he'd splurged and gone to Santarpio's for pizza and a side of hot Italian sausage and peppers for lunch. While he was sitting there in one of the vintage 1950s booths in the dim shop that offered the best pizza in Boston, the idea struck. How close he was to Richard Zardino's residence. He could easily park somewhere near the house and look for something. He wasn't sure what, but he was pretty sure he'd know it when he saw it. Riding around with Greene and Ahearn and hanging around with Mooney and Alves had prepared him for the drag of a stakeout-not the take-a-bite-of-your-sandwich-and-there-comes-your-target-right-on-cue of television show stakeouts. with his work schedule. A couple weeks ago, after he'd wrestled Zardino's yearbook away from the prim little headmaster, he'd splurged and gone to Santarpio's for pizza and a side of hot Italian sausage and peppers for lunch. While he was sitting there in one of the vintage 1950s booths in the dim shop that offered the best pizza in Boston, the idea struck. How close he was to Richard Zardino's residence. He could easily park somewhere near the house and look for something. He wasn't sure what, but he was pretty sure he'd know it when he saw it. Riding around with Greene and Ahearn and hanging around with Mooney and Alves had prepared him for the drag of a stakeout-not the take-a-bite-of-your-sandwich-and-there-comes-your-target-right-on-cue of television show stakeouts.

Since that day, any time Connie finished up early in court, he told his secretary that he had a meeting or that he was taking a long lunch. Minus the thirty-minutes-total drive time to Eastie and back, that gave him almost an hour and a half to watch Zardino's house.

He used his early mornings and free evenings to sit behind the heavily tinted windows of the office ride. He was more than worried about his diet. Short on time, he was eating at every takeout place on the other side of the Mystic River-Spinelli's, The Italian Kitchen, Katz's Bagels in Chelsea. But his healthy diet would have to take the hit. Mooney and Alves had spent the last couple weeks chasing down leads and getting nowhere.

It was early in the morning, over a plain bagel and a quart of skim milk, that he saw her. Small, dark-haired. She was coming out of the bungalow directly across from Zardino's old colonial, turning to be sure the door behind her was locked. She adjusted the strap of her pocketbook and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. The early light touched her face. Small, heart-shaped. A potential dream girl.

By the time she reached the sidewalk, she had her keys in her hand. She opened the door of a pale gold Honda Civic. Connie jotted down the plate number, and glancing over his shoulder as he pulled out of his spot to follow her, he noted the street number next to the mailbox.

He almost lost her in Maverick Square and at the toll booths at the Sumner Tunnel, but fortunately she was a conservative driver. It was a tough merge onto Storrow Drive, but he kept focused on the gold Honda.

She pulled into a small, private lot on Newbury Street. Connie pulled over into a loading zone and watched as the young woman crossed the street. She used her keys and entered Natalie's Natalie's. Once he got out onto the street, he could see the shop window was filled with women's clothing and accessories. He rapped on the gla.s.s door and waited.

He watched as the young woman stepped out from a rear office, waving her hands and pointing to the store hours stenciled on the door. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress cut just above the knee.

Connie held his badge up to the gla.s.s. ”I need to speak with you,” he called in.

She stepped back into her office and emerged a moment later with a big sweater. Like a woman coming out of the ocean, wrapping herself in a towel to walk in front of a man, this young woman was modest, cautious. The black dress was for the benefit of the female shoppers, to show them how good they could look if they bought something from the shop. For talking to a strange man, the bulky sweater was good.

She came to the door but didn't open it. ”Can I see your ID again?” she said, holding her sweater closed protectively with one hand.

It was good to see that she was careful. He reached into his left breast pocket and showed her his badge again, then flipped it open to show his credentials.

”Why does the DA's office want to speak with me, Mr.... Darget, is it?”

”If you would just let me in, ma'am, I won't take more than a few minutes of your time. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

”I'm kind of busy right now.” She looked more frightened than irritated.

”If you'd like, we can talk up at the grand jury.” Connie removed a subpoena from the same breast pocket. ”I was just trying to save you some trouble.”

She unlocked the door and let him in. He followed her into the back office and closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER 72.

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