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THE NEXT MORNING I got an early start. There were no signs of Frankie and Jimmy as I parked in the Boston Common parking garage. Maybe they were out stealing candy from a baby. I'd be out detecting all day, so there would be ample opportunity for them to follow me around and act intimidating.
Their tough-guy routine would work on most people, but guys like Frankie and Jimmy are as common in the crime world as tools at Home Depot. Low-level thugs who have no idea who they are working for. They are hired bullies. It's another reason I knew I was on to something.
Aaron Hurley's boss didn't like me sniffing around. Frankie and Jimmy were an attempt to scare me off. When they realized their first attempt proved insufficient, things would likely escalate. I'd continue to investigate and be vigilant for Frankie and Jimmy 2.0.
I exited the parking garage and crossed Boston Common. Snake Pit Pete had given me the address for the Narcotics Anonymous group Brad had attended. The most useful thing Pete had probably done all week.
The NA group met in the basement of a church on Tremont Street. I hung around the church's front steps and waited for that morning's meeting to end. An attendee at the meeting told me a guy named Larry led the group, and that he was inside cleaning up.
Larry was a smallish guy who looked to be in his mid-fifties. He had a receding hairline and his waist indicated he didn't often pass up the donuts served at the meetings. I could understand the attraction of donuts. Regular workouts at the Central Square YMCA kept my waist from looking like Larry's.
He looked up at me as I entered the room. Florescent lighting and pale yellow walls tried to make up for the absence of any natural light. There was a modest rumble as a T subway train traveled along the tracks on the other side of the basement wall.
“Can I help you?” Larry said, as he removed folding chairs from their semi-circle configuration and stacked them against the wall.
“My name is Drew Patrick. I'm a private investigator looking into Brad Whitcomb's death.”
Larry paused after he stacked a chair. “A real shame,” he said. “Brad had been doing so well. Just celebrated a year sober.”
He went and folded two more chairs.
“Let me give you a hand,” I said.
Larry nodded his approval, and I joined him in folding and stacking chairs.
“When was the last time you saw Brad?”
“At last week's meeting,” Larry said. “He would have attended this morning's.”
“Same day of the week?”
“Yeah. We have a regular schedule. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel. What's your interest in Brad's death?”
“Part of a larger investigation,” I said. “There is reason to believe Brad was murdered.”
Larry stopped and looked at me. “Murdered?” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Why would anyone want to kill Brad?”
“I was hoping you might have some insight,” I said.
Larry shook his head. “I’m not sure what help I can be. I run the NA Meetings, and I was his sponsor, but beyond that...” He shook his head again and stacked another chair.
“Do you know if Brad gambled? Had any large debts he couldn't pay?”
“Not that I'm aware of,” Larry said. “I know he wanted to quit his job at the Snake Pit. That is something I encouraged him to do. Too much temptation at that place.”
“Heavy drug use at the Snake Pit?” I said.
“Don't know about heavy,” Larry said, “but there is definitely a drug culture among some patrons. Not a good place for a recovering addict.”
“No. I would imagine not.”
“Anyway, he kept talking about getting seed money to go into business with a friend. A record shop. Apparently, vinyl records are making a real comeback.”
“I've heard that,” I said.
Larry stared off into the room. “I remember collecting records when I was a kid. Then cassette tapes came along, and CDs. Now it's mostly digital. But I think Brad was on to something. Nothing like putting a record on a turntable and dropping the needle. And the album artwork. You don't get that with an mp3 file. Digital probably ain't goin' anywhere, but I bet there is a healthy niche in vinyl.”
“How real of a prospect was the record store?” I said. “Had Brad been saving money? Did they have a business loan?”
“That I can't say,” Larry said.
“Do you know the name of the prospective business partner?” I asked.
“No. But you should talk to Brad's girlfriend. Her name is Heather. Last name begins with a B. Let me get her full name and address for you.” Larry looked up her name and address in an emergency contact list and gave them to me.
“You think Brad was killed over money?” Larry said.
“Money is often a motive,” I said. “Do you have any idea if Brad knew a Jack Murphy?”
“The same guy who was beaten to death behind the Snake Pit?” Larry said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Don't know,” Larry said. “Can't recall him mentioning the name. You think their deaths are connected?”
“Right now I'm just asking questions and seeing what dots I can connect.”
“But you wouldn't ask about that Murphy guy if it wasn't relevant, would ya?”
“Hard to know what is relevant and what is not at this point,” I said. “All I’m sure of is that the Snake Pit is a common denominator, and both men are dead.”
“Well, you're the private eye,” Larry said. “I guess you know better than me.”
We finished stacking the last of the folding chairs.
“So who hired you?” Larry said. “Or is that confidential?”
“No one hired me for this part of my investigation. I was hired to look into someone else. That someone else intersected with Brad.”
“You think that someone else killed Brad?”
“I’m positive he didn't. I was following him during the time Brad was murdered.”
“So why are you looking into this?” Larry said.
“To find out who did kill Brad. And how it is connected with my case.”
“What about the police?” Larry said. “They going to find who did this?”
“Yes. The State Police are opening an investigation. I'm unofficially helping.”
“Well, I hope you catch whoever did this,” Larry said. “Brad didn't deserve what happened to him. He had made mistakes, but he was a good guy. He was turning his life around. One year sober. What a shame.”
“It is tragic,” I said. “And we will do our best. There are great detectives looking into this. If you think of anything, get in touch with me.”
I handed Larry my business card. He looked at it and then put it in his shirt pocket. I thanked him for his time and left.