2 In The Hat Part 18
What the h.e.l.l was he he doing here, that prosecutor, Darget, showing up doing here, that prosecutor, Darget, showing up at Natalie's boutique before business hours? at Natalie's boutique before business hours?
Sleep watched as she came to the door. Under the ratty sweater, she was wearing her A-line shift, dark as night. One of his favorites. Darget had flashed his badge and she opened the door.
Darget was not on a shopping excursion. He didn't wander into a shop on Newbury Street by coincidence. He was here on business. But it made no sense. How could Darget have found her? And, if he knew about her, what else did he know?
Sleep tried not to panic. If Darget knew about everything, he wouldn't need to speak with her. So maybe he was on a fishing expedition. But how could he have known what pond to fish?
And he was by himself. He was a prosecutor, not a cop. He had to be conducting his own, unofficial investigation. Otherwise, he would have a detective with him. Sleep looked down at the newspaper folded on his lap. The smaller of the headlines read PHANTOM GUN LINKED TO SIX GANG MURDERS. PHANTOM GUN LINKED TO SIX GANG MURDERS. He had read the article earlier. Sergeant Detective Ray Figgs was asking for the public's help with the rash of shootings tied to one "community" gun-a .40 caliber that was apparently being pa.s.sed around from one shooter to the next. He had read the article earlier. Sergeant Detective Ray Figgs was asking for the public's help with the rash of shootings tied to one "community" gun-a .40 caliber that was apparently being pa.s.sed around from one shooter to the next.
The main headline above the fold read COPYCAT KILLER? COPYCAT KILLER? The authorities were trying to provoke him, get him to say or to do something to prove he was the killer. Tickle his ego. Force him into a mistake. The article was accompanied by a photo of Wayne Mooney. The same detective who had been on the killer's trail for ten years. The attempt to start a dialogue with the "Prom Night Killer" was amateurish. Transparent. The authorities were trying to provoke him, get him to say or to do something to prove he was the killer. Tickle his ego. Force him into a mistake. The article was accompanied by a photo of Wayne Mooney. The same detective who had been on the killer's trail for ten years. The attempt to start a dialogue with the "Prom Night Killer" was amateurish. Transparent.
The only way Sleep would communicate with the police was with more bodies.
So if the police were pursuing this copycat angle to get the killer to talk, what the h.e.l.l was Darget doing on Newbury Street talking to Natalie?
Conrad Darget, the ambitious prosecutor, was on his own.
And after Darget finished speaking with Natalie, he'd know too much.
CHAPTER 73.
The back room was tiny, little more than a walk-in closet. There had to be another room, maybe in the bas.e.m.e.nt, where they stocked their inventory. Natalie Fresco, as the young shop owner had introduced herself, sat behind a small metal desk with a computer monitor and little else on it. Connie took a seat across from her. to be another room, maybe in the bas.e.m.e.nt, where they stocked their inventory. Natalie Fresco, as the young shop owner had introduced herself, sat behind a small metal desk with a computer monitor and little else on it. Connie took a seat across from her.
"How can I help you, Mr. Darget?"
"I'd like to speak with you about someone, one of your neighbors. Rich Zardino."
"What about him?"
Despite the fancy setting on Newbury Street, her dark good looks and the sweater still wrapped tightly around her, Connie could sense a toughness in her, a streetwise sense. Somehow a kid from the neighborhood had managed to start a business on tony Newbury. "How long have you known him?"
"Since we were kids. We moved in across the street from his family the summer before Richie and I started high school."
"How much do you know about him?"
"What do you mean? He's a neighbor. People in the neighborhood say hi to each other. He's a quiet guy. Lost both his parents. Lives alone in the family house."
"Sounds like a normal guy."
She studied his face. a.s.sessing him. Their situation. "As normal as you could be, considering all he's been through."
"What's not normal about him?"
She must have decided that what she knew wasn't worth hiding from him. "When we were younger, he used to follow me everywhere." She was quiet for a moment, maybe thinking about how she was talking to an authority. She quickly added, "He never did anything to hurt me, you know. He was just always...there."
"When was this?"
"A long time ago. It didn't start that way. When we first met we were pretty close friends. You might even say we went out with each other. But at that age, all that meant was we used to hang around and talk and hold hands. Then I told him that I just wanted to be friends. I told him that my parents didn't like me dating him."
"Was he okay with that?"
"He seemed all right at first." She thought for a second. "But looking back on it, he probably figured he could work his way back to being my boyfriend. You know, hang around long enough and you notice that you're in love with your best friend."
"Did he ever figure out that you didn't want to date him?"
"I don't know. It was hard to get away from him. He lived across the street, you know. I didn't mind him being there at first, but it got to be a drag. It was hard to date other boys with him following us around."
"How long did that last?"
"Until I went away to college. Then it got worse. In the spring of our senior year at Eastie High, his dad died. He was supposedly murdered during a botched robbery. But everyone knew it was a mob hit. Word on the street was his dad owed the wrong people money and couldn't or wouldn't pay. They killed him to send a message. Rich flipped out. He was running around saying that he was going to get revenge. There was talk that he was going to get himself killed."
Death of a parent. No, worse: murder murder of a parent. That had to be a major stressor in Zardino's life. of a parent. That had to be a major stressor in Zardino's life.
"I figured I'd go away and he'd get over me. The summer after my freshman year, I was living in the South End. I started working here as a salesperson. I thought being out of the old neighborhood would make a difference. But things got creepy. He got a job across the street." She pointed toward the front of the store.
Connie did a quick calculation. The store across the street was a block away from the Sheraton-where Kelly Adams and Eric Flowers were last seen alive coming from their prom. From the hotel, you could walk down Boylston, cut across Ma.s.s Ave., past Little Stevie's Pizza, and you're in the Fens. Where Adams and Flowers were found.
"He was looking in the window at me, following me at lunchtime....I was scared, fed up. I went over and called him out in front of his boss. Told him to leave me alone. I think he got fired because of it."
Major stressors number two and three, Connie thought. Dream girl and job gone.
"My mother told me he'd been taking cla.s.ses at UMa.s.s Boston. I was happy for him. Then she called that September and told me he'd been charged with murder. He was tried, convicted, and gone from the neighborhood."
"Have you seen him since he got out of jail?"
"Now and then. He seems to have gotten over me. When he first got out, I was living in the South End. I had an apartment with some friends. Then my dad pa.s.sed away and I moved back in with my mother, to help her out. She's getting older. So, as fate would have it, I'm back living in the neighborhood."
Fate had brought them back together. Connie couldn't help thinking of the fortune, DEPART NOT FROM THE PATH WHICH FATE HAS YOU a.s.sIGNED. DEPART NOT FROM THE PATH WHICH FATE HAS YOU a.s.sIGNED. "So you were both back home taking care of your mothers?" "So you were both back home taking care of your mothers?"
"Until his mother pa.s.sed away over the summer. I felt bad for him. She was all he had. She was the only one who visited him in jail, who believed he was innocent. She was his whole life."
Another stressor, at the same time fate brought his true love back to him. "How did he handle losing her?"
"He seemed to take it okay. He has some odd ideas about the G.o.ds and fate. He believes that everything in nature is in a constant flow. In death there is life. He talked about this symbol, like two polliwogs, one black, one white. Yin and Yang?"
CHAPTER 74.
Sleep found a better parking spot on Newbury, down the street from from Natalie's Natalie's. He wasn't sure what car Darget was driving, he'd only seen him walking up the street, away from the Common. Had Darget even driven? But it was worth a shot. He would wait for him to come out of the shop, and if Darget walked in his direction, that would be a sign.
Darget had been in the store for quite a while. Not good, but there was no need to panic. If Darget came in his direction, he would get out of the van and make his move. He knew Darget would be leery of him, so he would have to act quickly. Catch him off guard. Hope no one was walking by. Because that's all it would take: one thing not going right. He didn't like doing things like this, not working out every detail beforehand, working on a crowded street in daylight. He had to get Darget close enough to the van and then pull out the gun. Again, without witnesses. Get him into the back of the van. But once the van door closed with its soundproof walls, Conrad Darget would no longer be a threat.
Darget stepped out of the door. He stood on the sidewalk and surveyed the street in both directions.
Sleep pulled his Bruins cap down over his face and stepped out of the van. He moved to the back and opened the doors, pretending to adjust his tools inside. He could see Darget through the windshield as he turned in the van's direction. Sleep lifted two five-gallon buckets, one filled with joint compound and the other with his tools. Arranging them on the ground, he waited as Darget made his way down the sidewalk.
One car length away.
Sleep walked around the van doors and picked up the buckets. He put his head down and walked in Darget's direction. He could see Darget's feet. He picked up his pace.
"Yo, Sleepy!" someone shouted from behind him. "How ya doin,' brother?"
At the corner, waving, was some b.u.m from the old neighborhood. Some loser in gold neck chains and white sneakers. Vinnie or Tony Something, maybe?
Darget stepped aside, and Sleep b.u.mped around him, his tools jangling as he tried to keep his face down.
Sleep turned and looked up beyond the brim of his cap, trying to see just enough. But all he could see was Vinnie or Tony heading for him at a brisk clip, smiling, his hand out, ready to shake. And Conrad Darget, turning on his heels, smiling a little, walking away.
CHAPTER 75.
I'm kind of busy right now," Alves said.
Alves hadn't heard from Connie in a while. And after his meeting with Sonya Jordan, Alves was hesitant about calling him. He had always trusted Connie, valued their friendship. But he needed to treat everyone-friends included-as a suspect. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about who might have known Mitch well enough to set him up. And Connie was at the top of that list. The first person he and Mooney had interviewed that day at the courthouse was Conrad Darget.
"Angel," Connie's voice brought him back. "I know who the Prom Night Killer is."
"Let's hear it."
"Don't sound so excited."
"I've got Mooney crawling up my a.s.s, riding me twenty-four-seven to catch this nut. My wife and kids are living with my mother-in-law. I'm eating SpaghettiOs out of a can. Now I've got you moonlighting as a detective. Who's the killer, Connie?"
"Richard Zardino."
G.o.d. One of the mayor's precious Street Saviors. Alves thought back to his conversation with John Bland. If you decide to frame somebody, you don't decide that day If you decide to frame somebody, you don't decide that day. Alves's mind filled with images of Mitch Beaulieu-a poor guy with the unfortunate luck of befriending a killer. Would they now find obvious evidence leading them in Zardino's direction?
"Did you hear me? It's Rich Zardino."
Alves kept his voice level. "You want to pin eight more murders on Zardino? He's one of the mayor's Street Saviors. Poster child for the wrongly convicted. You want me to lose my job, Connie?"
"You're not pinning pinning anything on him." anything on him."
"You and Greene and Ahearn had a run-in with him. Is that when you got this idea to look into him as a suspect?"
"You think I'm saying this because Jackie Ahearn had an argument with him?"
"Isn't it? What made you look at him?"
"I saw him drive by the scene that night on Peter's Hill."
A wave of anger washed over Alves. "And you forgot to tell me this until now."
Silence on the other end of the line.
"If it makes you feel better, we'll look into him," Alves said.
"I've already looked into him. I've built a rock solid case against him. He knows I'm onto him. He tried to come after me this morning on Newbury Street."
"Connie, you've got to back off and leave the homicide investigations to the homicide detectives. Otherwise Mooney's going to talk to the DA about you."
"Screw you, Angel. I hand you a killer and you patronize me. When he kills again ..." Before he finished his thought, Connie cut off the call and the line went quiet.
CHAPTER 76.
Connie held onto the seats in front of him as Greene slammed to a stop. Greene could never ease up on the gas and glide to a stop. It was all jerky movements with him. Stop, go, stop, go. But Connie had other problems on his mind. He couldn't get the conversation with Alves out of his head. How could Alves think he was setting up Richard Zardino? All he had to do was look at the evidence. stop. Greene could never ease up on the gas and glide to a stop. It was all jerky movements with him. Stop, go, stop, go. But Connie had other problems on his mind. He couldn't get the conversation with Alves out of his head. How could Alves think he was setting up Richard Zardino? All he had to do was look at the evidence.
To their left was a car already stopped at the light. A hoopty-a dull silver older model Toyota Tercel. The driver tried to look straight ahead, both hands on the wheel. He sat rigidly, obviously avoiding looking over at them. He had to know they were police. It didn't matter that Greene and Ahearn rode in an unmarked cruiser; it was obvious who they were. Especially when Connie was with them. Three white guys in polo shirts riding around in a beat-up Crown Vic. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out.
"Greenie," Connie said, "I can't be sure from this angle, but isn't that Stutter Simpson?" Their main suspect in the Jesse Wilc.o.x shooting. Connie felt a rush. He had been looking to talk with Stutter since Wilc.o.x turned up dead. No one had seen him in a couple months. Word was that he'd left the state. Simpson had plenty of enemies, but none bigger than Wilc.o.x. A couple years earlier, Simpson had been shot. Connie knew that Wilc.o.x was the shooter, but Simpson wouldn't give him up. Said he could handle his own business. It was a matter of time before they killed each other.
Greene kept his head straight.
Ahearn turned slowly, using Greene as a blocker. "You could be right."
Greene tilted his head to get a sidelong look. "Looks like him. Hard to tell with the 'fro. Last time I saw him he had corn rows."
When the light changed, Greene waited for the car to move, staying a few lengths back as they drove down Dudley Street.
"Bravo eight-o-two. Can I get a check on a silver Toyota Tercel, Ma.s.s reg seven-two-zero Delta-Michael-Zebra," Ahearn said into the radio.
Greene was going to follow the car until the driver made a mistake. The car was going exactly thirty-five miles an hour, the speed limit. n.o.body drove the speed limit except senior citizens and people who knew they were being followed. The driver was riding the brakes. He had to be nervous. It was easy to commit a chapter 90 moving violation.
The radio crackled. "Bravo eight-o-two. That Tercel comes back to Shirley Simpson on Humboldt."
The car came to a complete stop for a red light at Blue Hill Ave., then the driver turned right.