40

Darby found Sean Flynn in the last cell. He sat hunched forward on the bottom bunk, his hands wrapped around a paper coffee cup. Despite the coolness in the room, dark rings of sweat were visible on the armpits of his blue collared shirt. His face was damp and he looked pale, like he was suffering from the flu or a stomach bug.

Mickey had told her Sean was claustrophobic. What she was seeing here, though, pointed to something more serious – something along the lines, possibly, of a post-traumatic-stress reaction to being caged inside a confined space. She knew about Sean’s time spent as a prisoner of war.

For a brief moment she wondered if Sean Flynn might have been the man who attacked her. A quick glance at his right leg dispelled that theory. His leg was fine, no injuries.

She stood in front of the bars, the air packed closely with day-old sweat and urine and Sean’s smoke-filled clothes. He hadn’t touched his food – it sat on a cardboard tray on the floor – and he didn’t look up at her.

‘I liked your old man. Solid, no bullshit,’ Sean said, his voice pinched tight. His fingers were stained yellow from nicotine, and what was left of his black hair had been trimmed close to the scalp. Sweat ran down his face. ‘I’m sorry how he went out.’

‘Why did you want to speak to me, Mr Flynn?’

‘Pull up a chair.’

‘I’d rather stand.’

Sean swallowed several times, Darby noticing how he stared hard at the floor, keeping his eyes there instead of on the bars.

‘I grew up with this guy named Andy Ferreira. He and I enlisted at the same time. We were in Vietnam together. This one time, it was at night, we stepped into a village that was supposed to have been levelled. Andy happened to be looking the wrong way when a gook with a flame-thrower turned him into a walking barbecue. A man screams a certain way when he’s burned alive. A sound like that never leaves you.’

‘And what sound does someone make right before you blow their brains out?’

‘I’m not going to jail for someone else’s mess.’

‘The beer bottle used for the Molotov?’ Darby said. ‘Forensics pulled your fingerprints from some of the glass shards.’

The news didn’t faze him – not even a ripple.

‘The police also found cigarette butts in Byrne’s backyard, behind the shed,’ Darby said. ‘They’re the same brand you smoke. They’re processing them for DNA as we speak. If that comes through, it’s another nail in your coffin.’

Sean said nothing.

‘And then there’s Byrne’s neighbour, the kid who’s in an army training programme,’ Darby said. ‘As luck would have it, he was playing around with his night-vision goggles. Police gave him a six-pack to look at – you know, a group of six pictures. Guess who was identified as the man he saw unscrewing the light bulbs on Byrne’s back porch?’

‘They find any fingerprints on the light bulbs?’

They had, but none of them belonged to Sean.

When she didn’t answer, Sean said, ‘What I thought.’

‘The gold lighter they found in the snow? Your prints were on that too. Are you starting to see the full picture here?’

‘Last time I had that lighter was at McCarthy’s. That’s a bar over in East Boston. Someone stole it out of my jacket. Go ahead and call George McCarthy, he’ll tell you.’

‘Someone’s trying to frame you?’

‘You’re goddamn right.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. But I intend to find out the minute I get out of here. Which brings me to why I asked to speak to you. I need –’

‘I understand Boston PD caught up with you just as you were getting ready to blow town.’

‘I was heading back to Florida. I’ve got a place there.’

‘I think you’re going to have a tough time selling that story.’

‘You were in my spot, who would you call for legal advice?’

‘Why is it you wanted to see me, Mr Flynn?’

‘I need a lawyer. A good one. I figure you’d know several.’

‘Why me, though?’

‘’Cause I know you’re tight with my kid, trying to help him through this shit.’

‘I meant, why not ask Mickey directly?’

‘Can’t get in touch with him. He and I, we’re not exactly on the best terms.’

The door for the holding pen opened. She turned and saw Kennedy, who motioned for her to join him.

‘Excuse me,’ Darby said to Sean.

‘You’re coming back, right?’

Darby didn’t answer. She walked away.

‘Hey,’ Sean called after her. ‘Come back here.’

Darby stepped into the hall. Mickey was standing with Kennedy. Mickey had showered and shaved and combed his hair and put on some clean clothes. He also reeked of booze.

‘He tell you why he asked for you?’

‘He wanted the name of a criminal lawyer. I didn’t tell him anything, just as you asked.’

‘Good,’ Mickey said, rubbing the back of his wrist vigorously across his bottom lip. ‘That’s good. You say anything about my mother yet?’

‘Not yet. You bring the stuff you mentioned on the phone?’

‘I’ve got it right here with me. Look, I just got through talking with Detective Kennedy, and he said I can go in there and see Sean, talk to him about my mother instead of having you do it. That okay with you?’

Darby nodded.

‘Make it quick,’ Kennedy said. ‘And remember, cops are watching you on the feed.’

‘Good luck,’ Darby said to Mickey.

‘I want you to come with me, to tell him about the lawyer stuff,’ Mickey said. ‘It will have more, you know, weight coming from you.’

She followed Mickey back into the holding pen. Mickey took a folding chair and set it up in front of the bars. Sean, his arms wrapped around his stomach, leaned forward but wouldn’t look up from the floor. He could see them from the corners of his eyes, though.

‘Lenny Glazer,’ Mickey said after he sat down. ‘You remember him?’

‘The fuck you doing here?’

‘Do you remember him?’

‘Why you asking me this shit?’

‘The lawyer I have in mind; she not only kept Glazer out of jail, but represented two of Glazer’s button men – Jimmy Flannery and some Italian guy named Ricci. They never did a day of time.’

‘She?’

Mickey nodded. ‘Her name is Rosemary Shapiro.’

‘This broad any good?’ Sean asked.

Darby answered the question. ‘This woman is the best criminal attorney in the city. I use her myself.’

‘Okay,’ Sean said. ‘Make the call.’

‘She’s next to impossible to hire,’ Mickey said. ‘But Darby agreed to call in a favour.’

‘Make the call.’

‘She’s also very expensive.’

‘How much?’

‘Probably around a hundred grand for a retainer.’

No hesitation from Sean: ‘Make the call.’

‘You got that kind of scratch?’

Sean nodded. ‘Get in touch with her.’

‘That depends on you.’

Sean’s eyes clouded.

‘You help me,’ Mickey said, ‘and Darby will contact the lawyer.’

‘Help you with what?’

‘What you did to my mother.’

‘My ass is on the line here and you want to rehash shit that happened –’ Sean cut himself off when Mickey got to his feet. ‘She left us. End of story.’

‘A month after she left, she mailed a package to Jim Kelly’s house, along with a note. That note said she would be coming back to Belham.’

‘Your point?’

‘How’d you find out where she was hiding?’

‘If I knew that, don’t you think I would have brought her back home?’

‘Not without giving her a good beating first.’

‘I got no idea what happened to your mother.’

‘You went away for a few days, remember? On business? Of course you do. You came home and called me into the backyard and delivered a speech about how she wasn’t coming home, that it was time for me to accept it and move on. And maybe I would’ve bought your story but I happened to see your suitcase on your bed and decided to do a little investigating.’

Mickey reached inside his back pocket, came back with a pair of plane tickets so old the paper had yellowed with age.

‘Tickets to Paris in the name of Thom Peterson,’ Mickey said. ‘The guy in the passport photo bears a strange resemblance to you. Want to take a look? I’ve got that too … Nothing to say?’

‘Thought I’d lost that passport.’

‘Thing is, you hate to fly. You’re claustrophobic. That’s why you’re sweating like a pig right now.’

Darby, who was standing to the side and watching Sean carefully, saw the words hit home.

‘And yet,’ Mickey said, ‘you hopped on a plane and flew all the way to France – under a false identity. Why is that?’

‘We can talk about this with my lawyer – this Rosemary Shapiro. Make the call.’

‘I’ll call her. But first you’re going to tell me what you did to her. You don’t, Shapiro isn’t going to take your case. That’s a fact.’

Sean gritted his teeth, balls of cartilage popping out along his jawline. ‘You don’t want to go down this road with me.’

‘I hear the cells at Walpole are like POW cages,’ Mickey said, getting to his feet.