Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller (29 page)

 
``Just a question of supply and demand,’’ Brant said. ``What do you want? You want to close the market?’’

``Not a bad idea,’’ Tate said. ``Give some of us little guys a chance to move up, like.’’

 
``I thought you were a Republican?’’

 
``What does that matter?’’

 
Brant shrugged. ``Your party doesn’t exactly support capital controls. Bad for foreign investment. Could scare them away. Then who’d buy all our debt?’’

 
``Why do you have to talk like such a damned professor, Brant? I’m just saying these Chinese are bad news. They’re killing the housing market.’’

 
Brant pressed his lips together. Clatterback and Malloy had returned. Malloy handed him a grande latte.

 
``How much do I owe you?’’

 
Malloy waved him away. ``That’s okay, boss. Junior bought.’’

 
``And don’t forget it,’’ Clatterback said as he fell into the chair opposite Brant. ``It’s hot out there. I don’t know how you can stomach a hot drink.’’

 
``Habit.’’

 
``What are we talking about?’’ Malloy asked as she took the remaining seat.

 
``Tate’s giving me his views on the macroeconomy.’’

 
Dennis Tate arched his eyebrows. ``The macro what? Look, all’s I’m saying is all this money from China, it’s dirty as hell, see. So no way should they be allowed to buy up all our houses. Send them back home.’’

 
``Charming thought,’’ Brant said without much emotion.

 
``Place in my neighborhood sold for $175,000 over asking after three days on the market,’’ Clatterback said. ``Good thing I’m already in the market.’’

 
``Since when did cops get obsessed with real estate?’’ Malloy asked in response. ``You sound like a bunch of ladies who lunch. Or worse, bankers.’’

 
``She’s got a point,’’ Brant said.

 
``Easy for you to say,’’ Tate said. ``How’s the place in Back Bay, Brant? You have the designers come in to redecorate lately?’’

 
``Screw you, Tate.’’

 
Dennis Tate smiled broadly. ``Ah, see. We got us a sore point, folks.’’

 
``You live in Back Bay?’’ Clatterback asked. ``That’s a nice area. What’d that set you back?’’

 
``It belonged to my wife,’’ Brant said defensively. ``And we’re done with this.’’

 
Brant turned to the stack of paper on his desk. Folder after folder of interview transcripts, autopsy reports, crime scene photos. He fished the Carswell case from the stack, opening it to the most recent entry.

 
``What the hell really happened to your face Brant?’’ Tate asked. ``You look like shit. And don’t tell me it was squash.’’

 
``I was going to ask the same,’’ Clatterback said. ``Two days off doesn’t seem to have done much for you.’’

 
Brant shuffled the papers from the Carswell file. He’d told them he’d needed to take time off. Family issues. His father had been giving him problems and he’d needed time to deal with the old man before the home threw him out. A white lie to cover his tracks. He was loathe to involve either of them with Volodin. Better to keep the Russian and his threats to himself. Even Marcellus remained in the dark. As far as she knew, Volodin was a concerned friend and former colleague.

 
``Can we get back to work?’’ Brant asked, brushing the matter away and pointing to the Carswell folder.

 
``I’d love to help you ladies, but I got stuff of my own to take care of. March is gonna assign me to street patrol if I don’t watch my back. Caio.’’

 
Tate rose to leave, taking the book he’d found on Brant’s desk with him.

 
``The book?’’ Brant asked.
 

 
``I can’t borrow it?’’

 
``You can but you never return them. Hand it over.’’

 
Tate handed the book to Brant, a look of wounded pride playing across his face.
 

 
``What did I miss?’’ he asked when Tate had left.

 
``You see yesterday’s Globe?’’ Malloy asked without hesitation.

 
``I read the front page. What was I supposed to see?’’

 
``Front of the local section. Lead item. There was a short piece on Luceno. Seems he got arrested a few weeks back but some of the goons from the Mayor’s office moved in and broke him out before the paperwork was filed. Now council wants to launch an investigation. There’s talk they might haul the commissioner in front of the council for an explanation.’’

 
``Luceno, huh?’’ Brant frowned. He understood the implications immediately. ``I’m sorry.’’

 
``You better tell that to my dad, sir. He thinks I was the leak. Now I’m shit on a stick.’’

 
``I’ll make it right,’’ Brant said, meaning it. ``What about Jolly?’’

 
``What about him?’’

 
``He doesn’t think you told the journo does he?’’

 
Malloy shook her head. ``Far as I know, he has no clue we were asking about Luceno. You ever talk to Cicca?’’

 
``Didn’t have time. Ritchie didn’t get the name from me. Whatever she got, she pieced most of it together by herself.’’

 
``She going to be a problem?’’ Clatterback asked.

 
``No, I don’t think so. Now that she’s gotten her scoop, I doubt we’ll see much more of her.’’

 
``What’d you find at Genepro?’’ Clatterback asked after a moment.

 
Brant shrugged. ``Not much. The place was pretty much boxed up when I got there. I think it’s been closed down.’’

 
Another lie, but a necessary one to be sure.
 

 
``Did you find out anything more on Eichel?’’ Brant asked Clatterback.

 
``I did.’’

 
``And?’’

 
``The phone company came through. I got her texts and her call records off the Nokia. She called a number registered to him multiple times in the days before her murder.’’

 
``So where can we find Eichel? Did you find anything else on social media?’’

 
Clatterback shook his head. ``He seems to have been careful. Besides Twitter, no more digital tracks. But the phone records were interesting. Eichel’s calls were bouncing off a cell tower up in Maine. I looked it up on the map app on my phone. Here’s the place.’’

 
Clatterback placed his handset on the desk and flipped through to a map application. A second tap brought up a display showing crisscrossing lines set against a yellow background. It was a topographical map showing the state of Maine. A red location pin had been placed in the upper right corner of the screen.

 
``Masardis,’’ Brant said as he read aloud the location on the map. ``Ever heard of it?’’

 
The two younger detectives shook their heads in unison.

 
``Neither have I. Looks pretty remote. There doesn’t seem to be much of anything around there. What about the texts?’’

 
Clatterback reached into the file he’d taken from his desk after they’d returned from the coffee run.
 

 
``They don’t say much that can help. Just a lot of love crap about how much they miss each other and can’t wait to see each other again.’’

 
``Let me see those,’’ Malloy said as she reached for the transcripts of the texts between Carswell and Eichel. ``It’s going to take some time to go through these. There’s a lot here.’’

 
``Don’t waste your time,’’ Clatterback said. ``I’ve already been through the highlights. It’s boring and useless.’’

 
``You’re being hasty, Junior. Katy is right. I want you two to go through these carefully.’’

 
``Maybe Eichel killed her,’’ Malloy said matter of factly.

 
``It’s a possibility. We still don’t know much about him, though. Junior, take Eichel’s picture. Show it to every storekeeper, vagrant, security guard, tour guide…anyone in the vicinity of where Carswell’s body was found. If he was in the neighborhood, I want to know.’’

 
``Want company?’’ Malloy asked.

 
``Best offer I’ve had all day. You okay with that, chief?’’

 
``Who am I to stand in the way?’’

 
Neither of the other detectives answered.

 
``I still think we’re missing something.’’
 
Brant stood as he closed his own file.
 

 
``Like what?’’

 
``We need to retrace some steps. What about the interviews near Copley, Junior?’’

 
Clatterback shook his head. ``Dead ends. Nobody saw anything. Except for a homeless guy but I doubt he’d be much help.’’

 
``Why?’’

 
``The guy’s non compos mentis, if you know what I mean,’’ Clatterback said.
 

 
``Do you know where we can find him?’’

 
``I do.’’

 
``The texts can wait.’’

The shopping cart rattled. The plastic seat flap was broken. Crushed beverage cans filled much of the basket.
 

 
``This is Ray,’’ Clatterback said, pointing indelicately to the cart’s owner.

 
``Last name?’’ Brant asked.

 
``No, man. Just Ray.’’

 
Ray’s face broke into a gapped smile. He was an old-timer. Dark leathery skin. Frizzy hair. A tired-looking face. Graying stubble grew on a weak chin.

 
The man’s clothes were a mess. He wore stained, oversized chinos. His shoes were black and muddied, too large for his feet. A soiled t-shirt hung loose on a slender frame. The smells of urine and garbage hung over him like a cloud.

 
``You living rough, Ray?’’ Brant asked out of curiosity and sympathy.

 
``No way, my brother. This is my home. I’m free as a bird.’’

 
Ray raised his arms to take in his surroundings. The smile on his face widened.

 
They were standing on a sidewalk near Dartmouth Street. Trinity Church was to their back. Tourists sat on benches near a stand selling lemonade. A woman had laid out a picnic blanket in the middle of Copley Square. Two children tossed a ball into the air as they ran in circles.

 
``Want me to call Social Services, Ray? Maybe get you a hot meal?’’

 
Ray’s face turned petulant as he stamped his feet. ``I TOLD you man, I’m free.’’

 
``Seriously, Ray. We could get you to a doctor, too. That cut on your face looks bad. Where’d that come from anyway?’’

 
The man’s hand went to his face and the angry-looking gash below his right eye.
 

 
``You know what it’s like, officer,’’ Ray said, his voice small and soft, the words slurred. ``Some kids just like to have fun with us old ones. They beat on us like, but it’s okay. I can take care of myself. Really.’’

 
``Here’s my card, Ray. You ever need anything, you give me a call, okay?’’

 
The man took the business card Brant had produced from his pocket.

 
``Lieutenant Jonas Brant. Boston Police Department. That’s a nice name officer, biblical like, you know what I mean? Are you a religious man by any chance?’’

 
``Afraid not, Ray. Detective Clatterback tells me you saw something the other night. You want to tell me about it?’’

 
The man pressed his lips together as he brought a crooked finger to his lips. ``Now, this is just between the three of us, right? I mean I don’t need to get in no trouble. Life is tough for a black man in America these days, officer. It’s just a citizen has to do his duty. Isn’t that right?’’

 
``That’s right, Ray,’’ Brant said, patting the man gently on the shoulder with affection. ``We need to watch out for each other. That’s why I want you to call me if you get into any trouble out here or if you want to go to a shelter for that hot meal. Now, what was it you saw?’’

 
``Well, it’s like this,’’ Ray said, drawing air in through cracked lips. ``I’m an early riser, you see. Part of the routine, so to speak. The city’s quietest then. And the sunrises. You wouldn’t believe, my brother. God in all his glory. You know what I’m saying?’’

 
``I do,’’ Brant said, smiling.

 
``Anyway, as I told the other officer, I seen some movement out of my eye. Over there by the CVS pharmacy.’’

 
Ray nodded with his head toward the buildings lining Boylston Street. Brant followed his line of sight.

 
``What kind of movement?’’

 
``Some people. First I thought they was going at it. They were so close. The big one, the guy, was holding the other one real tight. Right next to his body, like.’’

 
``What makes you say it was a man? How far away were you?’’

 
``Well, I was standing just about here,’’ Ray said, pointing his finger toward the sidewalk.

 
``And these people. They were next to the CVS pharmacy?’’

 
``That’s right, officer.’’

 
``Hard to get a good look when you’re this far away. How could you tell it was a man?’’

 
``He was big, my brother. That wasn’t no woman.’’