Next of Kin (39 page)

He turned the door handle and stepped inside. The alarm panel was just around the corner in the pantry. He found it within five seconds. That left fifty-five. More than enough time.

He pulled out a small screwdriver to prize open the plastic covering. As he started to work, though, he noticed that the alarm panel wasn’t beeping. There was no familiar disquieting
electronic countdown. He looked more closely and saw that the alarm had not been set. It wasn’t unusual; many people took enough comfort from the mere presence of an alarm system and failed
to actually turn it on.

Coale put his tools away and surveyed the kitchen. The pale light of the silver moon in the clearing sky was just enough to let him see. The room was huge, bigger than his old loft. He stood
there for a moment, listening to the house breathing, using all of his senses to get a feel for the place before he moved on. Once he felt he had the pulse of the house, he moved quickly and
silently. He made sure that every room on the ground floor was empty. Then he started up the stairs.

He heard the movement in a room off to the right at the top of the staircase. Down a long hallway, a single light was on, papers were being shuffled. Coale went to the left, checking all of the
other rooms on the floor to make sure there was no one else. Then he headed toward the light.

Peering through a crack in the door, he could see the senator hunched over at his desk, going through files. The light came from a green-shaded Tiffany lamp on his desk. His back was to Coale,
and the shutters were closed.

Coale pulled out his gun. As he did, Buchanan began to turn. Coale stepped back from the door, listening, aiming the gun at the shaft of light carving through the gap. He heard Buchanan stand,
the wooden desk chair creaking as he did. He walked further into the room. Another light was switched on, this one harsher than the subtle, soft tones of the Tiffany lamp. A moment later, Coale
heard the familiar dribble from a toilet.

He moved silently into the room, rounded the corner. The door to the bathroom stood open. Buchanan was standing in front of the toilet, his hands below his waist in front of him. His hair was
wrecked, the usually perfect coiffure sent askew, standing up at the top of his head, pushed back and to the side.

Coale moved forward to the threshold of the lavatory, extending his arm so that the tip of the silencer rested at the base of Buchanan’s skull. Buchanan went stiff, his head coming up, his
back going rigid with tension. ‘Mr Coale, I presume,’ he said without turning around.

‘Don’t turn around.’

‘I wouldn’t think of it. Do you mind if I zip my pants?’

‘Yes.’

Buchanan took a deep breath. It sounded almost as though his patience had been tried by a small child, and he was now mustering every ounce of forbearance to deal with him. ‘Whatever
you’re being paid, I’ll pay more,’ Buchanan said. ‘A lot more.’

Coale raged internally at Buchanan. He pressed his gun harder into the man’s neck, forcing his head down. ‘Who said I was being paid?’

Something about Buchanan’s posture changed. Coale sensed it. He was a man who was used to being able to solve any problem; to gloss over any unpleasantness, with money and favors. For the
first time in his life, James Buchanan was realizing he was in a situation that was completely out of his control. ‘Please,’ he said. His voice cracked; he sounded weak for the first
time. ‘Please, we can talk about this.’

Coale eased back on the gun. ‘We can talk about this,’ he agreed. ‘I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. We are going to talk about this until you
understand what you have done; until you understand why I’m here. Then, when we are done talking, I’m going to kill you.’ He leaned in close to the senator, spoke softly. ‘I
wanted you to know that before we began.’

At seven o’clock the phone on Long’s desk rang. He was sitting in his chair, looking down at his investigation notes, his elbows on the desk, his head resting on
his knuckles. Racine was sitting in the chair on the far side of the desk. The squad room was just beginning to come to life, but it was still quiet, and the phone startled them both.

Long picked up the receiver. ‘Detective Long,’ he said. He listened for a moment. ‘You sure?’ He listened again. ‘Okay, thanks, Joe. I appreciate you working this
overnight.’ He hung up. Racine was looking at him, her eyebrows raised. ‘The lab,’ he said. ‘It’s a match. Buchanan is Scott Finn’s father.’

Racine let out a low whistle. ‘Finn was right.’

Long nodded. ‘Finn was right,’ he agreed.

‘Where does that leave us?’

Long shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

The phone on the desk rang again. Long looked at it curiously, picked it up. ‘Yeah?’

‘Is this Long?’ came a voice from the other end. It sounded distant; a cell phone with a weak signal, ambient sound from outside crowding out the voice.

‘Yeah, this is Long.’

‘This is Detective Unger over in Chelsea. I heard through the grapevine you’ve been working a case that’s got something to do with Eamonn McDougal, that right?’

‘That’s right,’ Long said. ‘I was out over in Charlestown last night after his son Kevin was whacked. You might want to keep an eye on him over there.’

‘Yeah, well, that won’t be necessary,’ Unger said. ‘He’s not going anywhere anymore.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean someone already took care of McDougal last night, maybe early this morning. Three of his guys, too, over here at his office. It’s a goddamned massacre.’

Long had no idea how to respond. ‘You know who did it?’

‘Not yet,’ Unger said. ‘Seeing as how you’ve been working on something with him, I was kinda hoping you might be able to shed some light on some of the
probables.’

Long thought about it. ‘I may be able to,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to check a few things out first, okay?’

‘Whatever you say,’ Unger replied. ‘I’m not going anywhere, and neither’s McDougal at this point. Just get back to me when you get a chance. This is one we’d
like to clear up here. It doesn’t look good to have this kind of shit going down and not be able to put someone away. Not that I mind having McDougal off our watch list. Hell, there’s a
part of me that’d like to find the guy who did this just so I can thank him.’

‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,’ Long said. He hung up the phone, looked up at Racine. ‘McDougal’s dead,’ he said.

‘Eamonn?’

He nodded.

‘Holy crap,’ Racine said. ‘What does that mean?’

‘That means I’ve got to get over to Buchanan’s house, now.’

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Scott Finn and Tom Kozlowski climbed out of the little MG in front of the Buchanan house on Louisburg Square at seven-fifteen that morning. They stood there, looking up at the
towering residence for a moment before they moved toward it. They walked slowly, almost as if they wanted to delay the inevitable. They were watched by the suited man with the dark sunglasses on
the stoop landing at the front door. They stopped two steps below the landing, at a tactical disadvantage. Finn was happy to see, at least, that the man on duty wasn’t one of the men
he’d already encountered. That might smooth the conversation.

‘We need to talk to Senator Buchanan,’ Finn said.

The man shook his head. ‘He’s given instructions that he doesn’t want to be disturbed this morning. He’s cancelled all his appointments.’

‘We don’t have an appointment,’ Kozlowski said. ‘So he didn’t cancel us.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the guard said. ‘I can’t help you.’ He was young and nervous; probably a guy who had tried to get into the police academy and had failed the
test. He spoke the way someone who wants to be a cop speaks, but without the confidence that comes from having been the law.

‘He’s going to want to talk to us,’ Finn said. ‘He’ll be pissed if you don’t call him to tell him we’re here. You really want to take that chance? Why
not at least call up. Tell him Scott Finn is here and he wants to talk about the deal the senator proposed the other day.’

‘No can do, sir,’ the young man said, though his voice sounded far from confident. ‘The senator has given explicit instructions that he is not to be disturbed.’

‘You talked to him yourself?’ Kozlowski asked.

The guard shook his head slowly. ‘I just came on fifteen minutes ago. He called down at five-thirty, left word with the guy who was on before me. Apparently he was up all night.’

‘Probably worried about your conversation with him yesterday,’ Kozlowski said to Finn. Kozlowski looked up at the young man again. ‘You can probably tell we have some pretty
important things we need to discuss with the senator. So why don’t you press the buzzer and tell him that we’re here?’

The guard hesitated. He was starting to look nervous. ‘I can’t,’ he said. He didn’t sound very convincing, though. Both Finn and Kozlowski continued to stare at him.
‘I’m serious, I could get fired,’ he said.

‘You could get fired either way, I guess,’ Kozlowski said. ‘It depends on your judgment.’

The guard looked at the intercom, then back at Kozlowski. It looked like he was about to say something when another car pulled up to the sidewalk directly in front of the house. It was a boxy
American-made sedan, so conspicuous on the street that it might as well have had a row of police lights strapped to the top of it.

Kozlowski and Finn watched as Detective Long opened the door and got out. Finn looked at Kozlowski. ‘Good news or bad?’

Kozlowski shook his head. ‘It’s never good news when the cops show up this early in the morning.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Long asked.

‘I had some thoughts on health care,’ Kozlowski replied.

‘Funny.’

‘What? He’s my senator, right?’

‘I have to talk to the man,’ Long said. ‘You two can’t be here. It’s part of the investigation.’

‘You got some news?’ Finn asked.

Long looked at him. He said nothing.

‘You came to me, remember?’ Finn said. ‘You asked me for my blood; now you’re not going to tell me?’

‘It was positive,’ Long said. ‘I got the call from the lab a half hour ago. You’re his son.’

‘No shit,’ Finn said.

‘No shit.’

No one said anything. Long watched as the lawyer’s face displayed a range of conflicting emotions. He wondered what the moment must be like after four and a half decades of not knowing.
Most people would break down. Finn’s face just went blank. ‘You two have to leave,’ Long said again.

‘Right,’ Finn said. Neither he nor Kozlowski moved.

Long climbed the steps, walking past Finn and Kozlowski, until he was standing next to the security guard on the stoop. He ignored the young man and reached out and buzzed the intercom.

‘You can’t!’ the guard protested, his hand reaching up for Long’s arm. Long turned on him, grabbed him by the throat and pushed him up against the door. ‘You
don’t want to be touching a cop that way,’ he said. ‘And I know you don’t want to be interfering with an official police investigation, right?’ He let go of the
man’s throat, turned back to the intercom.

‘He doesn’t want to be disturbed,’ the guard choked out. ‘He cancelled all his meetings for the morning.’

‘Good, then his schedule should be free,’ Long said. ‘Any way you look at it, though, he is going to talk to me.’ He pressed the buzzer again. ‘Senator
Buchanan,’ he said into the intercom. ‘It’s Detective Long. Open up, sir. I have some important matters to discuss with you.’

There was no answer from the intercom. All four men stood there, looking at the speaker expectantly.

‘Senator, open the door,’ Long said again. ‘I could go and get a warrant, but that isn’t going to do either of us any good, sir.’

‘Maybe he’s sleeping,’ the guard said. ‘He was up all night.’

Long reached out and hit the intercom again, holding it down for ten seconds. They could hear the obnoxiously loud buzzing from inside. ‘Senator, this is police business, open up
now!’ Long yelled.

A moment later they heard the noise. It was somewhere between a scream and a cry, coming from the second floor. They looked at each other, as if to confirm that they had all heard it. A moment
later there came a screech of agony too clear to be questioned. Long pulled out his gun. ‘Call 911, now!’ he shouted to the security guard. The young man just stared at him, too stunned
to move. ‘Now!’ Long yelled again. This time the guard reacted by pulling out a radio and yelling into it.

‘Code red!’ he yelled over and over.

Long turned his attention to the door. He leaned back, lifted his foot up, shifted his weight forward and kicked out with all his might, connecting just to the left of the door’s handle.
The great heavy portal gave a shudder, but didn’t budge.

From upstairs within the house came another ear-shattering scream.

Long turned and looked at Finn and Kozlowski. ‘Give me a hand!’ he yelled.

The two of them joined him at the top of the stoop. The young security guard moved down the steps, fully ceding control over the situation. He was still yelling ‘Code red!’ into his
walkie-talkie. Long, Finn and Kozlowski stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the door. Long gave the count, ‘One, two, three,’ and then all three of them flung themselves at the door.
Finn and Long used their feet. Kozlowski, who was far more solid than either of them, used his shoulder. They all connected at the same time, and the door gave another shudder; this time it was
deeper, though, and it was accompanied by a loud cracking sound. It held, but only just.

‘One, two, three!’ Long counted again. They threw themselves at the door once more, and this time the thick slab of wood gave way, the doorjamb tearing off from the inside.

Long held his gun up and stepped into the house. He turned and looked at Finn and Kozlowski. ‘Stay here,’ he said.

Kozlowski already had his gun out. He shook his head. ‘We’re coming in,’ he said.

Long started to argue, but before he could get any words out, another scream from the second floor cut him off. He nodded to Kozlowski. ‘Keep him out of the way,’ he said, motioning
at Finn.

Kozlowski nodded his assent and gave Finn a look. ‘I’ll stay back, but I’m coming up,’ Finn said.