Death on Hanover Page 6

  Detective Cluney was a family man, and the photo of his wife and kids balanced precariously near the edge of a cluttered desk. An ashtray overflowed with ash and cigar ends, while a well-used porcelain mug with several coffee-stained rings sat empty nearby. Haley waited for Detective Cluney to offer her a chair, but when he didn’t, she remained standing but undaunted.

  “Detective Cluney, does the name Cormac Keating mean anything to you?”

  The detective scowled in return. “Leave police business to the police, Dr. Higgins. I beg of you.”

  “I take it that’s a yes. Shall I change the name on the corpse’s toe tag?”

  Detective Cluney sighed heavily. “Sit down, Dr. Higgins.”

  Finally, Haley thought, the truth?

  “How did you figure it out?” Detective Cluney asked, then flapped a thick palm. “Forget it. I don’t want to know. Yes, your John Doe is Cormac Keating.”

  “His brother was killed last year?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why has the department not informed the press? Surely this is newsworthy?”

  “Because the issue is bigger than one dead guy, Doctor.”

  “Underground fight club rings? Illegal gambling?”

  Detective Cluney opened a small pine box on his desk and removed a cigar. “You’re in the wrong profession, Dr. Higgins. You should join the force.” He snapped off the tip with cigar clippers. The procedure made Haley squirm. She’d seen her share of bodies with missing fingers show up in the morgue—the unfortunate victims of ruthless loan sharks who made use of the same sharp device.

  Detective Cluney lit the cigar and blew out a stream of sharp but pleasant-smelling smoke. His eyes flashed with indecision as he studied Haley. Whatever debate he was having with himself, Haley hoped he’d side with confiding in her. Finally, with his cigar dangling out of the side of thick lips, the detective pushed out of his chair, lumbered to the office door, and closed it. Back at his desk, he rested the cigar on the ashtray, wove sausage-like fingers together, and leaned in.

  “Dr. Higgins, I need your word you’ll keep what I tell you next to yourself.”

  “Of course.”

  “We got ourselves a problem here at North End station. Bigger than the dead guy at the church.”

  “Unethical behavior among your men?”

  Detective Cluney laughed out loud. “That’s one way to put it. I just call them crooked.”

  “How do you know? Is this why you’re not revealing the name of the victim to the press.”

  “It’s been going on for some time, over a year. Came to my attention that something was amiss last year when Sean Keating was killed. Someone on the force went to a lot of trouble to muddy the evidence. Every time we think we’re about to close in and raid a fight, we show up and there’s nothing. No evidence a fight was ever held or plans for one to be held. Someone is always one step ahead of the force.”

  “And you don’t know who,” Haley said.

  Detective Cluney grunted. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Why are you telling me?” Haley had watched the detective wrestle with himself—it hadn’t been an easy decision for him to make.

  “Because I need your help.”

  “Oh?”

  “Look, I know you have a nose for this kind of thing. You’re getting it into my business all the time. But I can’t trust my men, not until I catch the dirty one.”

  “Or ones.”

  “Or ones.” The detective dug the stub of his cigar out of the tray and relit it. “As much as it pains me to say, you’re the only one I can trust one hundred percent.”

  Haley blinked at the backhanded compliment.

  “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

  “That’s just it. I have no idea. And I have no right to ask for your assistance. Quite honestly, this is a dangerous business. You saw the body of Keating. Nasty.”

  “Yes,” Haley said carefully. “It reminded me of Joe.”

  Detective Cluney stared back. “I guessed you’d figure that. Which is why I decided to let you in on company secrets. You’ll investigate it, no matter what I say.”

  Haley smirked. “Yes, Detective. I will.”

  Samantha had a strange feeling she was being followed. It was a sensation she’d felt for the last few days, and she blamed it on a lack of sleep or the stress of her job. Investigative reporting had proved to be a hazardous business, and it was normal she’d be more on edge now than she used to be, right?

  Maybe she was paranoid, but she picked up her steps on her way home from work anyway. The roads and alleys grew slimmer as she got closer to the tenements, which cast eerie shadows.

  She turned the corner onto Stillman Street where she was jerked into an alley. A dirty palm pressed over her mouth, and fear paralyzed her. Struggling didn’t free her, and her whimpers grew desperate sounding as she breathed hard through her nose. Her heart hammered in her chest, and for a moment, she thought she would pass out.

  “Hey, baby,” a male voice said.

  Samantha froze. Good golly. She knew that voice.

  She stilled, and the man turned her until she saw his face. If she had been the fainting type, she would’ve dropped to the ground. Seth Rosenbaum, her no-good husband who’d deserted her and Talia, stood in front of her as real as rain. His too-long hair stuck out of a flat cap, and bristles covered his stupid grin.

  “Happy to see me?”

  Samantha’s jaw dropped. Seth had come back to life.

  “Say somethin’, sugar.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Necessary evil. Had to stay away until I got some things worked out.”

  “Seven years?”

  “Yeah, but it’s all good now. I’m home.”

  Samantha tried to identify the emotions swirling through her soul. Disbelief, anger . . . fear.

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  Seth frowned, deep and hard. “You can say that you missed me, and you’re glad that I’m back.”

  The thing was Samantha hadn’t missed Seth, at least not this version of the man she’d met and married so long ago. Their romance had been more about desire than love, and the unplanned baby that resulted was what had led them to the altar. What she felt now was as far from glad as you could get, but something in his eyes cautioned her from admitting it.

  “Of course I missed you. I’m glad you’re back. I’m just in shock. It’s been so long, Seth.”

  “Like I said, couldn’t be helped. He took her arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Home. Where else?”

  Samantha’s mind scrambled. “Have you been there already?” Had Seth been to see his mother before he saw his wife? Her blood cooled at the next thought—had he seen Talia?

  “Nah. I wanted to see you first. You look amazing, sugarplum. Too good to be walking the streets unchaperoned.”

  Stunned, Samantha walked with Seth to their tenement building. She felt slapped—no trampled. Just like the day when Seth had failed to come home, she felt the axis of her world tilt. Seth Rosenbaum was back, and life would never be the same.

  10

  Haley felt as if she’d been given an honorary place on the force, alongside the other women who served there—like Acting Sergeant Margaret McHugh.

  But now that she’d been given free rein, she was stumped as to where to begin. All her files on Joe’s murder were at her home office, so she turned her DeSoto around and headed to her apartment. The leaves of the elm trees along the sidewalks blew gently in the wind, the breeze faintly saline from the harbor.

  Inside her building, the smell of fresh baking filled the hallways—Molly wasn’t the only skilled cook and baker on the premises—and Haley’s stomach reminded her that it’d been a couple of hours since lunch with Samantha.

  She and Molly rarely locked the apartment during the day, and Haley simply turned the knob and stepped inside.

/>   “Molly, it’s me.”

  “Oh, I have to go,” Molly said, but not in response to Haley’s announcement. It sounded as if she was talking on the telephone. “Dr. Higgins is here. Why? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her yourself. Okay, yes, goodbye for now.”

  Haley removed her hat and gloves and set them on the side table. She examined the rare Higgins family photo hanging framed on the wall. They’d gathered outside on the front steps of their house on the farm, her parents in the middle with Ben and Harley-James on one side and Joe and Haley on the other. Haley smiled at the fond memories of her childhood, when she’d cared for chickens, milked cows, and played kick the can and rudimentary baseball with her brothers.

  Her parents were gone, along with Joe. Ben and his wife and new baby lived on the farm now. Harley-James had gone west to seek his fortune.

  “Who was that on the phone?” Haley asked, though she had a good inkling she knew who. Molly’s flushed cheeks confirmed her suspicions. She smiled and answered her own question, “Dr. Guthrie, perhaps?”

  “Oh, you just mind your own business, smarty-pants.” Molly busied herself around the kitchen.

  Haley opened the Frigidaire and picked up the bottle of milk. Before she’d finished pouring herself a glass, Mr. Midnight hobble-bounced on his three legs to his bowl.

  “Speaking of a smarty-pants,” Haley said.

  Mr. Midnight stared up at her with his piercing yellow eyes, his black pointy ears twitching in anticipation. Haley poured him milk.

  “He knows the sound of the Frigidaire opening,” Molly said as if she’d taught him the trick. “You’d think I never feed him.”

  “I think he’s getting fat,” Haley said. She petted the feline and squeezed his underbelly. “How can we expect him to chase mice if he’s never hungry.”

  Molly protested. “Oh, posh. The poor thing’s only got three legs. Let the other four-legged neighborhood cats do the dirty work.”

  Haley laughed. Had Molly ever had children, they’d all have been spoiled rotten.

  “You’re home early,” Molly stated.

  Haley relayed her meeting with Detective Cluney. “It’s the greenest light I’ve ever gotten from him.”

  “That’s quite something,” Molly agreed. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s what I’ve got to figure out.”

  “Oh, not that I want to get between you and your boss, but Dr. Guthrie wondered where you were.”

  “Right. I suppose I’d better check in.”

  Haley dialed the morgue and spoke to Mr. Martin, who reassured her he had everything under control. No autopsies were scheduled for that afternoon, and Dr. Guthrie was reading in his office. By the way her intern emphasized reading, she knew he’d fallen asleep at his desk.

  Haley took her glass of milk to her office, went to her desk, and removed Joe’s file and a pad of paper from the drawer. Wanting a clean page, she ripped off the top sheet. After grabbing a pen, she poised her hand above the paper. What did she know so far? She found it helped her mind to organize the information if she could see it written out.

  Similarities between the deaths of Cormac Keating and Joseph Higgins:

  Death by knife wound in the neck.

  Bodies dumped, fists tucked underneath.

  Bruising, old and new, especially fists, face, and abdomen.

  What she and Samantha had learned so far:

  Mr. Mulryan, the secretary at St. Stephen’s, has a gambling problem.

  Overheard him being threatened by Mr. Delaney, whom Johnny Milwaukee says organizes underground fight clubs.

  Cormac Keating’s brother Sean killed last year. Connection?

  Detective Cluney believes there’s a crooked cop on the force, perhaps tainting the evidence needed to crack down on the illegal fighting and gambling ring.

  Haley realized that she hadn’t heard from Samantha about her meeting with Officer Bell. Mr. Martin would’ve mentioned if she’d called there. Haley returned to the kitchen, which was now empty. A quick glance into the living room revealed that Molly and Mr. Midnight were having an afternoon snooze together on the plush settee. Haley picked up the receiver to the telephone that hung on the kitchen wall. Dialing the Boston Daily Record, Haley quietly asked to speak to Miss Hawke.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Hawke isn’t in at the moment,” the cheery receptionist said. “Can I take a message?”

  “This is Dr. Higgins.”

  “Oh, hi, Dr. Higgins. Miss Hawke never came back after lunch. Between you, me, and the fence post, you’re not the only one looking for her.”

  Haley hung up concerned. Samantha wasn’t the type to go AWOL. It could be she was still out with Officer Bell—the two did have a complicated relationship. At any rate, Samantha was a big girl and could take care of herself.

  Which brought Haley back to what she should do next.

  “Will Delaney,” she muttered aloud. Now, how to find him. Haley’s first try was the Boston telephone directory, assuming Mr. Delaney owned a telephone. And if she were to call, what would she say? Are you the Will Delaney who runs illegal fight clubs in the city? Even if she landed on the right one, he would hardly admit to that.

  Her only conclusion was to visit Mr. Mulryan, who was at best reluctant and uncooperative and at worst, too terrified to talk. But Haley couldn’t sit around doing nothing, especially since she had top-brass approval to interfere.

  It was getting near to suppertime, and Haley thought she might have better luck with the church secretary if she caught him at home. No excuses about getting back to church work. She’d found his home address in the church directory she’d picked up when she and Samantha had attended mass.

  When Mr. Mulryan opened the door of his cellar apartment beneath a brownstone townhouse, he couldn’t contain his shock at seeing Haley step in front of him. He stepped out as if to block her from seeing inside, or rather, to prevent the missus from seeing her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was hoping you’d give me a minute of your time, Mr. Mulryan. I’m looking for someone who attends your parish, and he’s not in your directory. I thought maybe you would know where he lives.”

  “Very well,” Mr. Mulryan said impatiently. “Who is it?”

  “Will Delaney.”

  Mr. Mulryan swallowed hard. “What do you need with the likes of him?”

  “I’m investigating the death of my brother.” Haley thought it best not to bring up the body in the churchyard. “I have reason to believe they might’ve known each other.”

  “Take my advice, Dr. Higgins, and walk away.”

  “Do you know where Mr. Delaney resides?”

  Mr. Mulryan stepped forward. “Dr. Higgins, do you want to end up like your brother?”

  He knew her brother? “Is that a threat?”

  “What? No! These people are dangerous, Doctor. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  Mr. Mulryan turned and headed inside. Much to his exasperation, Haley stayed on his heels.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Tell me where I can find Mr. Delaney, or I’m going to introduce myself to your wife and tell her why I’m here.”

  “Fine, but your blood is on your own hands.”

  Mr. Mulryan spat a Beacon Hill address then slammed the door in Haley’s face.

  Beacon Hill was a prestigious neighborhood, and it was no surprise when Haley learned Mr. Delaney occupied the penthouse suite of a well-to-do complex along Storrow Drive. She was stopped by the doorman.

  “Might I have your name, ma’am?” he asked politely.

  “Dr. Haley Higgins. I’m here to see Mr. William Delaney.”

  “Is he expecting you, ma’am.”

  Haley hesitated. Then she did something uncharacteristic—she lied. “Yes. I’ve got something he’s requested.” She patted her purse as if she carried narcotics or cocaine, something a man like Mr. Delaney might take part in. What was in her bag was a Harrington
& Richardson nine-shot pistol. It usually rested in her lower desk drawer, locked away, but something had told her it was time to pack it along.

  The doorman eyed a telephone on his desk, and Haley could see the deliberation. Apparently, Mr. Delaney did not like to be interrupted. Haley cleared her throat, and when she saw the doorman glance her way, she made a point of looking at her wristwatch.

  “I’m rather late. Mr. Delaney’s going to be upset with me.” She smiled her most pathetic-looking smile. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get into the elevator.”

  Not waiting for permission, Haley moved quickly, stepped into the elevator, and instructed the attendant.

  “Penthouse.”

  It wasn’t the elevator attendant’s job to question those who got in. He pressed the button, and the doors closed. Haley let out a long slow breath. Another obstacle conquered.

  The elevator lumbered to the top floor and shuddered to a stop. The metal doors fanned opened, and instead of producing a usual type of hallway, Haley found herself inside the home of Mr. Delaney. He stood there as if he’d expected her, a glass of whiskey in hand.

  “Dr. Higgins,” he said. “Mr. Wiles, my doorman, just called to profusely apologize. Apparently, he was incapable of stopping a most-determined female who professed to have something of interest in her purse for me. I do hope that is true.”

  “Forgive my ruse, Mr. Delaney,” Haley said. “I feared a little white lie was the only way I’d be able to speak to you.”

  “You have my attention. But, please come in and have a seat. If I’m forced to be hospitable, allow me to do a decent job of it. Can I get you a drink?”

  Haley thought him very brazen to make a presentation of the drink in his hand, considering the possession of alcohol remained illegal.

  “I’m quite fine,” Haley said. “Thank you.” She accepted a soft-leather armchair and sat carefully on the edge of it in case she needed to make a defensive move.

  The interior walls of the suite were papered with black and white Art Deco geometric lines. An exquisite polished teakwood wall unit had sliding doors perfect for concealing prohibited beverages like the one Mr. Delaney sipped. Tall windows offered a stunning view over the Charles River and into Cambridge.