Part 19 (2/2)
As he leaned on the rail, he thought about his conversation with Sonya Jordan. Now he understood why she was considered one of the top defense lawyers in Boston. She had reiterated many of the points made by FBI Agent Bland, but hammered them home with her personal knowledge of Mitch Beaulieu.
”I've seen Mitch's so-called secret room,” she had said, her eyes blazing with intensity. ”It wasn't a secret to me. He probably didn't want anyone teasing him about it. That's why I was so angry when I learned that his friends from the office made it sound like he had this secret room. Some shrine to the murder victims.”
”You have to admit it looked suspicious,” Alves had said.
”Suspicious of what? A man who lost his father to suicide, the only person in his life.” Exactly what Bland had said. ”He was all alone in this world. That room was the only place he could go to feel like he was with his dad. He wasn't homicidal, Detective. He wanted to be with his father. And I was too self-absorbed to see that he'd do anything to be reunited with him. I shouldn't have left the way I did.” Alves could see the guilt she felt in her eyes.
He'd spent the rest of his time with her listening to stories about Mitch. The raw emotion that she showed had worked to convince Alves that it was at least worth digging a little deeper into Mitch's suicide and the accusations against him.
The s.h.i.+p's whistle blew. It was loud, nearly causing him to jump. He turned and shot a look up at the pilothouse. He couldn't see anything through the glare on the gla.s.s, but he a.s.sumed they were laughing at the folks who had been surprised by the shrill blast.
He felt the chill in the air as soon as the ferry began moving forward. But it was a good feeling, better than being trapped inside with chatty tourists. He had his badge and his gun on his belt-guaranteed conversation pieces. If he went inside, someone was sure to corner him and irritate him with bad policeman stories. It was windy. He walked to the bow of the s.h.i.+p, where he stood alone at the rail, looking out toward Gay Head, a deep wall of cliffs, almost like the island had been cut away from the mainland.
Alves had always loved the ocean. He imagined himself on a tiny s.h.i.+p sailing across Vineyard Sound. They were traveling the exact course he had mapped out in his head. Off in the distance he could see Vineyard Haven as it grew. It was nice to get away from the investigation, if only for a few hours. But then he wasn't really getting away. He was walking himself back into another investigation, one that had caused him pain, an investigation that he thought was behind him.
He breathed in the air, salty and clean. It was different from the summer smells, the crowds of people. He closed his eyes, took some deep breaths. His muscles started to loosen, the tension in his neck easing.
He was startled by the whistle. This time he might have jumped. He wasn't sure, because he had almost fallen asleep. He didn't turn toward the pilothouse. His focus was on the buildings in town as the ferry moved into the harbor.
Soon he would be talking with the one person who really knew Conrad Darget. The one person who might have some insight into his mind and his private thoughts. Today he might get some answers.
That's what scared him more than anything.
CHAPTER 79.
Figgs stepped into Grady's Barber Shop. There was one customer, sitting and chatting with Grady.
”Time to go, Pops,” Figgs said, holding the door open.
The customer got up, put his Kangol on his head, and left. No questions asked.
Figgs locked the door behind him, put up the closed sign and pulled the shade down over the door window. ”Let's talk, Grady.”
”'Bout what?”
”Stutter got locked up last night. I just had a nice sit-down with him. Told me how everything went down. I'm going to ask you some of the same questions. You lie to me even once, Grady, and I'll have the state licensing board come in here and shut you down permanently.” Figgs knew it was an idle threat. There were only a couple of inspectors in the whole state. And even if they did shut him down, Grady would be back in business in a day or so, cutting hair in the boiler room of his apartment building. By appointment only.
The old man looked down at the floor, covered with clots of hair, despite the fact that actual haircuts seemed to be a rare occurrence in the shop.
Figgs's phone vibrated on his hip. He looked at the screen: Reggie Stone. He held up a finger to Grady. ”One second. Hi, Reg. What have you got?”
”Ray, I test fired the .40. It's definitely the gun we've been looking for. I've matched it to the casings and projectiles from about half the cases so far.”
”Prints?”
”Nothing. I took the gun apart before fuming it. No ridge detail on anything, the receiver, the slide, the barrel, not even the magazine or the ammunition.”
”Wiped clean?”
”Seems that way.”
”That's what I expected. Thanks, Reg.” Figgs hung up and turned his attention back to the barber. ”Why did you let Stutter Simpson stay here?”
”His mom is an old friend. Told me her son was in trouble, afraid to be seen anywheres. I let him crash till things cooled down.”
”You ever see him walking around with a big gun, .40 caliber?”
”I told him he could stay here, no guns. I don't want no drama coming down on me. Told me with his record if he got popped with a heater, he'd be going federally.”
”Where'd he go last night?”
”Said he was going over to see his mom, then to visit his grandmother in the hospital. She's been having panic attacks since Junior got killed. Said he wanted to let her see he was okay.”
”Did he take a gun with him?”
”Like I said, I ain't seen no guns.”
The old man was old school all the way. No lying to the authorities. Grady was telling the same story Stutter Simpson had. Figgs pulled the ring on the shade and let it snap, unlocked the door, and stepped into the bright October sun.
CHAPTER 80.
The Dukes County Courthouse was situated next to the Old Whaling Church and across the street from the so-called Amity Town Hall of Church and across the street from the so-called Amity Town Hall of Jaws Jaws fame. One of the older buildings in Edgartown, built in the early 1800s, the courthouse was brick with two white pillars and four granite steps. It was not hectic like South Bay. Angel Alves sensed a laid-back att.i.tude in everyone from the lawyers and the cops to the defendants. fame. One of the older buildings in Edgartown, built in the early 1800s, the courthouse was brick with two white pillars and four granite steps. It was not hectic like South Bay. Angel Alves sensed a laid-back att.i.tude in everyone from the lawyers and the cops to the defendants.
A short distance from the courthouse was the wharf and, not more than five hundred feet of water away, Chappaquidd.i.c.k Island. He and Marcy had gone over once when they were dating. They took their bicycle over on the raft, barely big enough to carry a few cars and some pa.s.sengers with bikes. They rode to the Chappaquidd.i.c.k Dike Bridge. Looking over the side of the bridge, Alves saw that the water below was little more than a glorified stream.
It was after eight thirty when Alves made his way up the stairs of the courthouse. He flashed his badge to the blue s.h.i.+rts manning the tight s.p.a.ce adapted to accommodate the metal detector, and they waved him through. The District Attorney's office was on the second floor. The tiny single room, which he'd heard used to be the foyer of the ladies' room in grander times, now served as Andi Norton's office.
She was on the telephone. She shot him a smile. ”Someone just came into my office,” she said. ”I have to go. Talk to you later.”
She hung up the phone and stood to greet Alves with a hug. ”It's nice to see you, Angel.”
”What a great courthouse,” Alves said. ”Easy commute, old building, stress-free environment. I could get to like this place. And I start my day with a hug from a gorgeous redhead.”
”Not everyone gets the hug. Just the cute Homicide detectives from Boston. Otherwise, my husband would get jealous. That was Will on the phone. Have a seat.”
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