The Brothers Page 21

  Chapter 20… Bob’s Barbeque

  They made the uneasy ride back from Framingham to North Cambridge in complete silence. As they neared the neighborhood Harry spotted a Dunkin’ Donuts shop that was still open and wheeled the big Mercedes into the parking area, cognizant to back into a parking spot with nothing blocking their exit in the event that they needed to leave in a hurry. Thoughts like that were becoming regular occurrences lately, and he was starting to scare himself. Looking straight ahead, “I don’t think you should be going back to that house,” he said to Denise. He could see her turn and he felt her eyes on the side of his face.

  “Me? What about you?” she fired back. “If the sideshow your friend Al just put on is any indication, you’re the one who should be worried.”

  “I think maybe you should stay in a hotel tonight. I’ll drive you there and pick you up first thing in the morning.”

  “You know, sometimes I think you have scrambled eggs up here.” She knocked him in the head. “No phone, no car, yeah right. That will make me feel secure.”

  She had a point, but he continued, “I think it’s too dangerous—”

  “Harry, forget it. Nothing doing. Let’s go check my car and see if they took the bait.”

  Before leaving to meet with Fighting Al at the travel plaza, they’d had the foresight to put both their cell phones with the New Jersey 732 area code into Denise’s car and drive it away from Suzanne’s address to a spot where they’d be able to observe it without being observed themselves—hopefully. If anyone was pinging those phones and in turn using GPS to track them physically, this might be an opportunity to spot them. Harry turned to Denise and said, “I love you, sweetheart. I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself if anything ever happened to you.”

  “And I love you, Harry, which is why I can’t let you go off on this mission and just wait around to see if you come back. This is the way I want it.”

  Harry knew it would be useless to argue further. “As long as we’re here would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  They got two coffees and decided to split a Boston Kreme donut. She ate the filling and he ate the donut as they sipped their surprisingly good coffee, each of them keeping an eye on the parking lot the whole time.

  “Do you think they’re out there somewhere?” Denise asked as she licked some custard off her finger.

  “I’ve got the heebie-jeebies like someone is,” Harry replied. “I feel like I’m in a fish bowl.”

  They talked and held hands and all the while Denise kept her handbag containing her Walther .380 on her lap.

  Denise said, “You know you have to solve this, don’t you?”

  “I do,” said Harry. “Is that still upsetting to you?”

  “It was, for a while, but being in that house earlier today, feeling how empty it seemed, I couldn’t help but think how awful it will be for Suzanne to go back there. I don’t know if I could take being in that situation. It’s either you or them, Harry, and I’d much rather it be them.”

  Harry looked into his wife’s eyes. “So we’re good?”

  “As long as you agree that if we fail, both of us will go down together.”

  Harry smiled and sipped his coffee. Taking her hand again, he said, “Maybe when we get back to the house we can do an encore performance to the floor show we put on this afternoon.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Oh, now you’re going from being Dirty Harry to just being a dirty old man.”

  Harry chuckled and looked at his cell phone, noting that it was going on ten-thirty. “Let’s go see if anyone is in the neighborhood.” Suddenly serious, they noticed a couple of cars sniffing through the parking lot while they finished their coffee. Neither of them pulled in to a parking spot. “I wonder what they’re looking for,” said Harry.

  Plopping her handbag on the table, Denise said, “Trouble.”

  Harry said, “Easy girl,” and they hopped back into Hutch’s Mercedes, making their way back to where they’d parked Denise’s car. The Hutchinson’s house was at 91 Clifton Street across from Russell Field, but Denise’s silver Audi was one block over on Jackson Street. Inside the glove box sat both cell phones that used their home-based 732 area code, and they were quietly signaling their location as part of their normal operation. Jackson Street was narrow, with cars parked on the street in front of almost every house. If anyone was on Jackson Street stalking that Audi, they’d be noticeable if one knew to look for them.

  Harry parked on Clay Street, one block further east from Jackson Street and two blocks from Clifton Street. “Maybe we should have parked the Audi further away from Suzanne’s house,” he said.

  “What difference would it make?” Denise responded. “As long as it doesn’t reveal our exact location, how would anyone know where we’re staying.”

  Harry said, “How do you think we should do this?”

  “You sit tight,” Denise said as she opened her door. “I’m going for a little walk.” Leaning back into the car, she added, “It’s you they’ll be looking for, Harry, not me.”

  It was enough to stop any further objection on his part and she disappeared up Clay Street into the night. There was no moon and no street lights, and the intermittent porch lights that burned cast a dim glow that barely penetrated to the sidewalk. She walked north on Clay Street and turned left toward Jackson Street, figuring that if anyone had tracked the cell phone signal and was watching the Audi, given its position she would have more opportunity to spot them if she came from that direction. Walking slowly, conscious of the sound of her own shoes on the sidewalk, she tried to stay hidden by any large trees there and made a point to navigate into dark spots where light was at a minimum. She spotted the Audi which was facing away from her, and stopped. Her heart raced. Wishing she could be outside herself to determine how visible she was, she took a step forward. A cat squirted across her path and she nearly jumped out of her shoes. Her eyes darted from one car to the next, all of them looking like dark lumps regardless of their color—except for her Audi. That, she thought, looked like it was glowing. Thinking her imagination was getting the best of her, she took a deep breath and took a step, then another, her hand inside her handbag clutching the handle of her pistol the whole time. Soon, she was past the Audi, and she made it to the next corner where Jackson Street met Dudley Street. If she took a right, she knew she’d be almost back to Suzanne’s house on Clifton Street. Instead, she took a left, went back to Clay Street and walked completely around the block and came up on the Audi again but on the same side of Jackson Street as it was parked on this time. Again, she held her breath as her eyes hopped from one car to the next, looking for any sign that someone was inside any of them. Knowing it was her imagination, she could almost hear the phone signals emanating from inside the glove box. She saw nothing and heard nothing, no one walking a dog, no TV noise, no one having conversation, nothing. If someone was tracking Harry, they weren’t on this street at this moment. As such, she figured it was as safe as it was going to be to go back to Suzanne’s house, but for some reason it still didn’t feel right to her—like she was an expert in such things. Get hold of yourself, girl, she scolded, but she knew she and Harry would both sleep with one eye open tonight. Stealthily, she went back to Clay Street where Harry was waiting nervously inside the Mercedes.

  A half a block away, parked near the southeast corner of Jackson Street and Dudley Street, Catherine Pruitt said into her phone for the third time, “Are you sure that phone signal is coming from this street?”

  Her technical support specialist answered also for the third time, “I’m telling you, Detective, you’re right on top of it. It’s across the next intersection and half a block away at the most.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she watched Mrs. Curlander walk west on Dudley Street for the second time in the last fifteen minutes. “What is that woman doing?” she asked herself aloud. She put down her bino
culars and waited another fifteen minutes and called her tech specialist back. “Charlie, can you tell me when I’m on it?”

  “No problem,” said Charlie. “It’s straight north of you, maybe fifty yards up.”

  Pruitt put her unmarked cruiser into drive and rolled ever so slowly north on Jackson Street and through the stop sign at the corner of Dudley. All the while, Charlie was on the cell phone with her saying, “Slowly, little more, almost on it, little more... there! Stop, you’re right on it.”

  Pruitt stopped dead in the middle of Jackson Street, spotting a shiny Audi immediately to her left. Using her flashlight, she lit up the numbers on the Jersey plate and said, “Charlie, run this plate for me, will you?” It came back a minute later as registered to Denise Curlander of Point Pleasant, New Jersey. “Thanks Charlie.”

  Pruitt had recognized the neighborhood, of course, having been to Mrs. Hutchinson’s house on Clifton Street, but what was Harry Curlander’s cell phone doing inside his wife’s car, and why was it parked on the street a block away? Surely, the Curlanders were staying at the Hutchinson residence; they could have parked in the driveway. “I wonder what’s going on,” she said to herself as she debated whether to continue watching the Audi or go to the Hutchinson’s house and find out what they were up to. If she had waited another eight minutes she may have answered her own question when someone driving a black BMW pulled up next to the Audi and checked it out.

  * * * * *

  “You’re awake,” said Harry. “I made some coffee.”

  Denise shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, taking a minute to orient herself as if she was coming out of coma. “Yesterday had to be the longest Friday of my life,” she said. “What time is it?”

  Harry pointed to the kitschy carrot clock on the wall and said, “Ten after seven.”

  “Too early,” Denise moaned. “Why aren’t we still in bed?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Harry answered. “Not after yesterday.”

  “Which part of yesterday? The part where Detective Pruitt told us we could die, or the part where your friend Al told us we could die?”

  “For me it was the part at the coffee shop last night. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.” He paused and sipped some coffee. “I think someone is out there.”

  “What do you want to do about it? Wasn’t luring them to us part of your plan?”

  “Sort of, but I don’t think we want to give away our location until we’re ready. I’ve closed all the blinds and I don’t think we should turn any lights on, and we need to stay away from the windows. I also put Hutch’s car back in the garage.”

  “What about Suzanne’s car? Where is that?”

  “It’s not in the garage, so I assume it’s in long term parking at the airport.”

  “So we’re trapped like rats,” said Denise.

  “Not exactly.” Harry indicated his Sig Sauer P320 which he had now placed on the counter. “From here on out, I think we both make sure we have a chance to protect ourselves.”

  “Amen to that,” said Denise. “What’s on tap for this morning?”

  “First, I want to check Suzanne’s email box to see if we’ve gotten verification that someone from the bank—” Harry made quotation marks in the air with that comment— “...is coming on Monday to pick up Hutch’s laptop. Second, I need to touch base with Ducky to see if he’s gotten hold of the brothers and what the status of that is.”

  “And the objective of his contacting the other brothers is... what?”

  “We need to know where that laptop goes. If we can organize a surveillance team to see where they take it, combining that with the account numbers which we are now able to decipher, we’d have enough evidence to turn this whole thing over to....” Harry stopped.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Who do we turn this over to? Who will follow up on all this to ensure that Hutch’s killer is found? Should it be Pruitt? Or Monica? Or should we go directly to the FinCEN people, or give the information to Tushy and rely on his influence to get FinCEN on the case?” Harry noticed the look on Denise’s face. “What’s the matter?”

  “I hate to say this, but after everything we’ve been through in the last three weeks, would you trust any of those people to take this to the finish line and find Hutch’s killer?”

  “Actually... I’m not sure,” Harry admitted.

  “And then there is the other issue.”

  “The other issue?”

  “Yeah, stupid, the other issue... you! If someone else takes over this investigation, who knows how long it will take for them to make progress on it. In the meantime, whoever killed Hutch still thinks you have the account information—”

  “Which now I do.”

  “And you could still end up like Hutch while someone else takes their sweet time getting up to speed.” Denise gave Harry a real serious look. “Like I said, I really, really hate to say this, but there’s no easy way for us to get out of this—not now.”

  Harry got up and took at stand at the kitchen window. “Do you think we ought to call the kids and let them know about this?”

  “I don’t know,” said Denise. “Let me think about it.”

  * * * * *

  Dear Mr. Brennan,

  My name is Harry Curlander and you might recall that we met at Todd Hutchinson’s wake. As I mentioned then, Hutch and I have been close friends since college, and I remain close to his wife Suzanne. I am writing this email from Hutch’s personal computer in his home, and I am here because we are taking Suzanne on a trip which will hopefully help her recover from his passing.

  The reason I am writing is because Suzanne mentioned that she has asked you to have someone come to the house on Monday to pick up Hutch’s laptop, which belongs to FIB. Suzanne is not very good with computers, and she asked me to make sure there was nothing personal on that laptop before it went back to the bank. As I was going through the various files, I came across one particular file titled FinCEN File which contains some information Hutch had accumulated. It looked quite serious and I wanted to bring it to your attention. Hutch has made some allegations in this file that there are some money laundering activities going on at the bank, and he outlines an entire structure of accounts involved in this scheme. To me, it looked quite damning and I wanted you to know so that you could get your hands on this laptop as soon as it got back to FIB.

  I don’t know if this information is accurate or what Hutch was going to do with it, but I thought you would want to look at it seeing as you are the CFO at the bank. I will be here in Cambridge with Suzanne in case you wanted to contact me before we leave for Logan Airport on Monday evening. I’m sure you have the phone number to the house. Please confirm that you will send someone to pick up the laptop at noon on Monday.

  Sincerely,

  Harry Curlander

  Harry waited until Denise was finished reading his handiwork. “What do you think? Should I send it?”

  “Gee, what if your suspicions are right and Jerry’s email is being monitored? If you send this, you’ll be telling them exactly where we are.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on. Between the email we sent from Suzanne’s computer and this one, do you think this will flush them out?”

  “It might flush someone out, all right, but what if they show up to do more than just pick up that laptop? We’re all alone here, Harry. There’s a difference between trying to identify Hutch’s killer and committing suicide.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that. I sure hope Ducky made those phone calls and was able to get some of the brothers together.”

  “And what if he didn’t, or what if he struck out?”

  “Then I guess we could just not be here on Monday.” Without waiting for further comment, he clicked the send button, and it was gone.

  “You sent it, just like that.”

  “Yeah, like I said, we could just not be
here Monday if things don’t work out.”

  “Harry, there’s a lot of time between now and Monday. What if they decide to come a little early?”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  * * * * *

  “Did you get hold of any of the brothers?” Harry asked. He was on the land line talking to Ducky.

  “Yeah, almost all of them, but it’s not as easy as you think. It’s Memorial Day weekend. Most of them have plans with the family and they’re not about to drop everything to go all the way to Boston to play Dick Tracy with you.”

  “Maybe I should give them a call.”

  “Ah, I don’t think that would do any good,” said Ducky.

  “Why not?”

  “They’ve been talking to each other, Harry. They’ve all heard what you’ve been up to, and quite frankly they think you’re fucking nuts.”

  “Oh. All of them?”

  “Most of them.”

  “But we’ve got to find out where that laptop ends up. Dollars to donuts it doesn’t end up anywhere near FIB headquarters.”

  “You might be right, Harry, but then what? You’re not planning on doing something even crazier than what you’re already doing, are you?”

  “Like what, storming the place all by myself?”

  Ducky chuckled, but it wasn’t because he considered the question to be funny. “Actually, that’s not far off. Whoever these people are, they’ve already tried to kill you once, Harry; they will probably try again if they know where you are.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the thing.”

  “Uh-oh, what’s the thing?” Silence. “Jesus, Harry, what did you do? Wait... you set them up, didn’t you? You had no intention of turning this case over to that Detective Pruitt or anyone else. Somehow, some way, you arranged it so that they’d be coming after you.”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “How sort of, Harry?”

  “Well, do you remember how I told you that I pretended to be Suzanne and sent an email to Jerry Brennan in order to set up the pickup for the laptop?”

  “Yeah, and did it work?”

  “Like a charm. We got an email back about an hour ago that said someone would be coming on Monday.”

  “Okay... go on.”

  “Well, I sent another bogus email, from Hutch’s computer this time, indicating that Hutch had outlined the entire money laundering operation and that he, Jerry, should get his hands on that laptop right away.”

  Ducky took a moment. “But Jerry is dead.”

  “Yeah, but nobody knows that. Jerry’s email is obviously being hacked, and whoever is monitoring it now thinks their whole scheme is about to blow up.”

  “And that you know about the accounts,” Ducky added. “You left that part out.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “You know, Harry, I’ve learned that’s it’s usually not good when you start a sentence with yeah, well....”

  “Yeah, well, I kind of also indicated that I would be at the house on Monday when someone comes to pick up the laptop. I set them up, Ducky. I’ve turned the tables and now I’ve got them coming to me, just like Al said when we were at Slick’s, remember?”

  “Yeah, but they’re coming to you to kill you, Harry. Fuckin’ A, let’s not forget that part.”

  “Yeah, well, now you can see that I could really use some help here. Do you think that would get some of the other brothers to show up?”

  “Damn it, Harry. Sit tight and I’ll get back to you. On second thought, don’t sit tight. You need to get out of that house.”

  * * * * *

  The man was very clever, it seemed, and quite good at misdirection. Whether it was intentional or not was hard to tell. Putting his cell phone into his wife’s Audi and parking it away from the Hutchinson residence indicated that he was trying to mask his location, while at the same time he’d revealed his location in an email to Mister Brennan. However, that too could have been a deception. Now, looking at the Hutchinson residence, there seemed to be no sign of movement inside, no lights going on or off, nothing. That would be unnatural if he was in there with Hutchinson’s wife as he’d stated in the email to Brennan, especially because he’d used the word we when he indicated they’d be leaving for the airport on Monday evening. “We are taking Suzanne on a trip,” he’d stated, which meant he probably wasn’t alone in the house with Mrs. Hutchinson, but was there with his wife, who seemed to be by his side almost always.

  With a direct vantage point from the athletic fields across the street, even without binoculars one could see that the driveway was empty. Very sly, Mister Curlander, and without knowing it you’ve just bought yourself, and your wife probably, another few days to live. Even if he was in the house, the aftermath of killing him now would cause more problems than it solved, especially with the collateral damage of having to kill his wife and perhaps Mrs. Hutchinson as well. No one would think that Curlander dying would be a coincidental occurrence, not now, regardless of how or where he died, or whatever any medical examiner might say with regards to his cause of death. With Hutchinson, there had been weeks to plan his murder, for they knew his itinerary well in advance and were able to pick the spot to perform his execution. This was different, and any team of assassins was bound to leave traceable clues regardless of the weapon used to kill Curlander, for it could not be by the same method as Hutchinson. No, the time wasn’t right, but it would have to be soon. One thing seemed to be certain, however: Curlander was aware of their activities at the bank. Based on the email he’d sent to Brennan, Brennan would be on the lookout for that laptop shortly, but he would be easy enough to control; he had been up to now.

  Have a nice weekend, Mister Curlander. We will see you on Monday. By that time we should have a plan for your going away party.

  Partially hidden by the visiting team dugout on the south baseball diamond on Russell Field, Detective Pruitt saw the black BMW appear out of seemingly nowhere and drive slowly out of the complex. Watching it, she wondered if it was the same car Curlander almost shot at outside Slick’s five days earlier, but there were a lot of BMWs rolling in and out of Russell Field on this Saturday morning. She raised her binoculars to see if she could catch the plate number, but it took a right on Clifton Street toward Rindge Avenue before she could focus. She did notice that the license plate was a pale yellow color, however, just like the plate she’d seen the night before on Mrs. Curlander’s Audi. That car was still parked on Jackson Street, and it carried a New Jersey license plate. Massachusetts plates were white.

  * * * * *

  We should have bought some donuts last night,” Harry complained. “What’s to eat in this place?”

  Denise walked into the old-fashioned pantry alcove off the kitchen and eyed what was on the shelves. “Not much,” she said. “Suzanne probably didn’t do much shopping lately, knowing she was going on a trip and all. We got some pasta sauce, canned soup, and some tuna.”

  “I could do some pasta for lunch. How about that?”

  “Oops, no pasta. Just pasta sauce. How about some soup?”

  “What kind of soup?”

  “Minestrone.”

  “Canned minestrone? Ugh.”

  “Tuna?”

  “I guess. Do we have any bread?”

  Denise went to the freezer. “We’ve got some frozen bagels. What d’ya think?”

  “Got mayo?”

  Denise opened the other door on the fridge. “Got mayo, and some hot peppers.”

  “Tuna with hot peppers on a bagel? Some lunch.” Just then the phone in the kitchen rang and Harry picked it up. “I think this is Fish,” he said, looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “This is Fish.”

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Ducky.”

  “Ah. What’s up?”

  “I hear you’ve set yourself up as bait to get the scumbags to come to Hutc
h’s house on Monday.”

  Harry responded, “I’d like to think I’ve got the scumbags set up to reveal their identities and blow their whole money laundering operation on Monday.”

  “Whatever. I hear you can use some help.”

  Harry hesitated. “I gotta tell you up front, Fish, there could be some trouble, but yeah, I could use some help. You remember the laptop Sally looked at back at Slick’s, don’t you?”

  “Hutch’s laptop—of course. Ducky said you managed to set it up so that they think it contains information that would reveal their whole setup. How the hell did you do that?”

  “Long story, but I think that’s where I could use your help.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Harry took a deep breath. He was going to start the next sentence with the words, “If I’m not dead,” but thought better of it. Instead, he said, “I think we’d like to know where that laptop ends up. It sure as shit isn’t going back to the bank, but wherever it goes, it could lead us to straight to Hutch’s killers.”

  “I see. So assuming you’re not dead after you turn it over, you would like someone to track the thing.” Fish used the words instead, and his tone was matter of fact, like he could have been ordering take-out. “I might be able to handle that. Would you mind if I brought Sally along again?”

  “Fish, I told you. There could be some real trouble. I don’t know if you know it, but another executive from the bank is dead because of this whole thing.”

  “Yeah, I know. The CFO guy we met at the wake. Ducky told me. I thought Sally could help with something else.”

  “And what’s that?” Harry asked, his curiosity peaked.

  “She’s right here, Harry. Let me put her on.”

  “Hello Harry. Fish has explained the whole thing to me. About the reply you received indicating someone would be showing up on Monday to pick up the laptop.... They guy you sent the email to is dead, right?”

  “Dead as dead gets.”

  “Then he couldn’t have read the email or written the reply.”

  “Uh, obviously. We think someone is monitoring his email.”

  “Right. That means someone hacked into it, and they wrote the response from another IP address. If we can figure out what that is, that’s another way to track where these guys are located. If I were you, not only would I have someone following the laptop, I would have someone camped out wherever the hacker’s IP address is located to see if it all ends up being in the same place. You’re a lawyer; that would be evidence that Hutch’s death and this CFO’s suicide are connected, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t that point to conspiracy and extortion, and other bad stuff?”

  Harry was almost speechless. “And you can do this?”

  “Find the hacker’s IP address? Piece of cake. The best part is that we can do that now, before anyone picks up the laptop. You could have the location staked out ahead of time.”

  “You’re talking like you’re on Law & Order or something.”

  “Yeah, isn’t that cool?”

  “Should I forward you the email reply that supposedly came from Brennan?”

  “That’s okay, I can do it from there when Fish and I come up. We can be there this afternoon.”

  Harry hesitated and said slowly, “Listen, Sally, maybe you didn’t hear what I said to Fish a minute ago, but this could be dangerous. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to come along. I wouldn’t want to—”

  “Hey, Harry, I’m a big girl. Besides, I think Fish is kind of cute and I like hanging out with him. Do you want to say anything else to him before I hang up?”

  “Yeah, tell him to bring a pizza.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t park near the house and call me beforehand so we can figure out how to get you in here without being seen.” Harry hung up and said, “Fish and Sally gettin’ it on? I’ll be damned. Go Fish.”

  * * * * *

  “Where have you been staying?” Caruso asked.

  “I took a cot at the barracks in Revere for the last two nights,” Pruitt replied. “I need to buy some underwear.”

  “Too much information, Pruitt. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

  When Caruso said she’d have a couple of days to look into the situation, she was hoping he wasn’t being literal. Wrong. It was almost two days exactly and he wanted his update. “Curlander is throwing off some serious deception moves and it looks like he’s playing offense instead of defense.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, there’s no doubt that he knows he’s a target, and I think he’s figured out that his cell phone is being tracked.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “He put the phone into his wife’s car and parked it on another street, away from where he’s staying but nearby. Assuming his stalkers don’t know his exact location, it would be easy enough for him lay some surveillance on his own car without them knowing he’s watching. Pretty slick. He’s rigged it so that he can see them coming.”

  “If he does spot who’s after him, do you think he might turn right around and follow them?”

  “I would, if I were in his shoes. Wouldn’t you?”

  Caruso said, “Yeah, I would, but I’m a cop and he’s not. He could end up getting his ass blown off.”

  “Do you have a suggestion?” Pruitt asked, not sure if she really wanted his opinion.

  “You might have to get in the middle of it, and you might need some help. I’ll call over at Troop A headquarters and see if they’ve got an extra body to put on this with you.”

  “Actually, maybe you can get one of the locals. There’s a Detective Lopez on the Cambridge PD that put me onto this. I think he might be willing to help.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Caruso.

  * * * * *

  “What time did they say they were going to be here?” Denise asked.

  Harry replied, “The only thing Sally said is that they could be here this afternoon. I told them to call first so we could figure out how to get them into the house without being seen in case someone is watching. Any ideas?”

  Denise looked at the carrot clock and stepped to the side of the kitchen window that looked out to the street and Russell Field beyond. Parting one tiny corner of the mini blinds that were in a tight closed position, she said, “Maybe it would be easier for us to meet them somewhere rather than them trying to sneak in here in broad daylight.”

  It made sense. 91 Clifton Street was at the corner of Clifton and Dudley Streets, and it was the biggest house on the block. As such, it was as if it had two frontages along each street with the main entrance on Clifton. Jackson Street was one block over to the east. A long driveway lined with marble curb stones flanked the house and led to a large detached two-car garage that hid pretty much the entire back yard. A four-foot hedgerow on the Dudley Street side bordered the sidewalk there, and it took a ninety-degree turn at the property line and formed a privacy barrier between the back yards of the Hutchinson house and next one over, which was situated at the corner of Dudley and Jackson Streets.

  “You know, we could get to where our car is parked on Jackson Street by going out the back door and walking through the hedgerow separating this back yard from the one behind us. If anyone is watching, they probably wouldn’t be able to see us.”

  “What about the neighbors?” Denise asked. “They might not take too kindly to two strangers walking through their back yard and they might call the cops.”

  “Unless they’re at work,” Harry responded.

  “Harry, it’s the Saturday before Memorial Day. They’re probably not working.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “I guess I’m losing track of my days.”

  “More than likely it’s Alzheimer’s,” Denise responded.

  Suddenly, they heard a knock—from the very back door they were discussing. Harry picked up his S
ig Sauer pistol which he now kept only a few feet away at all times. “What the hell?” he said lowly. Knock, knock, knock. Gingerly, he made his way from the kitchen into the family room and the hallway beyond, which led to a back vestibule/mud room. Through the stretched curtain on the back door there, he could see the fuzzy outline of someone wearing a baseball cap. Behind him, Denise hid behind a coat rack, her Walther PPK gripped in both hands in a ready position. Harry pulled the gauzy curtain aside just enough to see some dude smiling at him, his nose almost pressed to the door glass. The dude waved at him all neighborly like.

  Harry put the Sig Sauer behind his back and pulled the door open a few inches. “Yes?”

  “Oh, hi,” the dude said. “Is Suzanne here? I’m her neighbor Bob from across the way.” Old Bob tossed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the house on the other side of the hedgerow.

  “Sorry, she’s not here right now,” Harry replied, wondering immediately if it was wise to have said that. He could see the quizzical look on Bob’s face as Denise stepped up from behind the coat rack. “We’re just visiting—old friends of the family,” Harry added. “We thought Suzanne could use some company over the holiday. You know, take her mind off things, given the situation and all.”

  Old Bob seemed to know exactly what Harry was referring to, and his picket fence of a smile got even wider. “Well good,” he said. “Glad to see her get up and about. Listen, I don’t want to interrupt your visit, but when she gets back why don’t you all come on over if you have a chance. We’re having a big barbeque over there and you all are welcome to step on over. Suzanne knows the way right through the hedge back there.” Bob thumbed over his shoulder again.

  “Yeah, sure, will do,” said Harry. “She’ll be back soon.”

  “Good, good,” said old Bob. “And tell Suzanne to not worry about bringing anything. Got enough food to feed an army.”

  “Sounds good,” said Harry, and he thought suddenly that he might as well press his luck. “I know we’ve got other family friends coming by later, but I’ll let her know for sure.”

  “Well bring ‘em along,” said old Bob. “The more the merrier.” Bob was suddenly very serious. “Too bad about Hutch, isn’t it? There wasn’t a finer man on the planet.”

  That rang a bell. “You knew him as Hutch,” Harry observed. “Only his close friends called him that. I think everyone else called him Todd.”

  “He insisted on it,” said Bob. “We’ve been neighbors for twenty-five years. Our kids grew up together.”

  Harry said, “Huh. You don’t say.” He swung around and dropped a look on Denise. “I’m surprised we’ve never met somewhere along the way.”

  Good old Bob suddenly got very serious and his eyes got all squinty. They focused on Harry for a second and bounced over to Denise, burning into her. “You’re the one driving that silver Audi parked up the street from my house, aren’t you?” His picket-fence smile gone now, it was replaced by a picket-fence snarl. His eyes came back to Harry, settling on him like crosshairs. “What did you say your name was?”

  Harry tightened his grip on the Sig Sauer as he felt old Bob try to push the door open, forcing it against his foot. “I didn’t,” said Harry.

  Old Bob turned into cold Bob. His facial expression hardening even more, he said, “Now I know Suzanne is in Chicago visiting her son for a while, and I’ve got a Glock .357 aimed at your balls, so why don’t you tell me who the fuck you are and what the hell you’re doing here before I turn you into a eunuch and call the cops.”

  Bob didn’t look like he was kidding, thought Harry. From behind him, he heard the faint click of Denise’s PPK. “No,” he said, putting his left arm up, stopping her. “My name is Harry Curlander.” He swung the door open all the way, noting with a twinge of anxiety that Bob did indeed have a Glock automatic aiming at him. From the looks of the thing, had he fired it would have put a bullet through him and Denise both, no problem. “I’ve been investigating Hutch’s death and I’m here to find out who killed him.” With that, he let his right hand come out from behind his back, letting the Sig Sauer hang at his side.

  Seeing the two weapons now, Bob did nothing to ease the tension and kept the Glock in place. “Harry? The same Harry that Hutch knew from his college days? That Harry?”

  “Right.”

  “Well c’mon, man. Why didn’t you say so? Hutch must have mentioned your name to me a thousand times.”

  Bob finally lowered the Glock and Harry felt his heart finally start to slow down.

  Bob resumed with, “What do you mean, you’re here to find out who killed him? Suzanne said Hutch died from a heart attack—isn’t that right?”

  “Not exactly,” said Harry, noting that Bob looked really confused. “Listen, if you knew Hutch like you say you did, there’s something you probably ought to know about how he died.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Listen, do you mind if we put the guns away now?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. It’s just that I’ve been seeing a lot of action around the house the last couple of days, and I knew Suzanne was in Chicago and everything, well, I just didn’t know what to think.” Bob finally lowered his weapon.

  Harry picked up on what Bob just said. “What do you mean, you’ve been seeing a lot of action around the house the last couple of days?”

  “Man, there’s been strangers crawling all up and down this neighborhood. What do you mean, I ought to know about how Hutch died?”

  Suddenly, from behind him, Denise spoke for the first time. “Harry, it looks like Bob really is having a barbeque next door.”

  Harry turned to her and he could see her eyes focused off into the distance. Indeed, they could hear music and people partying away on the other side of the hedgerow.

  “That could help us, don’t you think?” Denise went on.

  “Help you how?” Bob asked.

  Harry said, “Would you like to know how Hutch really died, and would you be interested in helping to catch his killers?”

  Bob said, “Hutch and Suzanne are godparents to my fourth child, and I risked my neck coming over here like this. Does that answer your question?”

  “Then we would like nothing better than to go to your barbeque, and I’ll explain the whole thing to you. By the way, a couple more of Hutch’s friends really are coming into town later. Is it okay if they come as well?”

  Bob looked at him sideways. “I assume they’re also involved in this so-called investigation of yours.”

  “It’s not a so-called investigation,” Harry responded. “It’s the real McCoy.”

  “I guess,” Bob replied as he turned and headed toward the back hedgerow. He stopped when he noticed that both Harry and Denise held on to their weapons as they followed him across the patio. “You’re not taking those with you, are you?”

  Harry said, “Maybe I should explain now.” He indicated a couple of patio chairs.

  “Maybe you should,” said Bob.

  Harry pointed to the BC initials on Bob’s baseball cap. “Boston College?”

  “Yeah. Is that a problem?” Bob asked, seeing the look on Harry’s face.

  “I’ll have to deal with it,” said Harry.

  “Just like Hutch,” said Bob. “You cocky John Adams boys must be all alike.”

  * * * * *

  Sitting on a lounge chair on Bob’s patio, Harry nursed his beer and kept his eyes on the Hutchinson house a back yard-and-a-half away. Denise was off with a group of ladies talking girl talk and he was glad that she got a chance to take a break from him. They’d been side by side for several days now he chuckled to himself that no matter how magnetic he was—right— she could use the change of pace. Obsessed is what he was, absolutely fixated on this whole thing with Hutch. Looking back on the phone conversation he’d had with Ducky that morning, he was beginning to understand the comment when Ducky said the other brothers think you’re fucking nuts. He probably was—in a way. But
in another way, he needed to protect himself. Unintentionally, Hutch had put him literally in mortal danger—and who was going to protect him? The answer was simple—nobody, that’s who.

  The police were no good to him. First off, they weren’t in the crime prevention business. He was like the abused wife who begged the police for protection, but until she was actually assaulted by the husband, there wasn’t much they could do. Yeah, well, by that time she’d be dead. He had to protect himself, and as long as Hutch’s killers believed that he had knowledge of their money laundering accounts, which now he did, his life could end at any time. Second, he still had no hard proof—of anything, not at this point. That he would have once he turned over the deciphered account numbers to the FinCEN people, but that evidence would come out only after FinCEN completed its investigation. Again, his conclusion was the same, which was that he could be dead by then. Any way he sliced up this scenario, the picture was still the same, which was that he needed to play it out—and he needed the other brothers to do it.

  Bob came over to him and said, “You know, Harry, I’ve only known you for a couple of hours, but it looks like you’ve got something on your mind?”

  Bob had proven to be an admirable guy, and come to find out that he and his wife Laura had been as close to Hutch and Suzanne as anyone. That was why he’d marched over to the Hutchinson house, weapon in hand, to find out what the hell was going on over there. While admitting that he was more than a little unnerved when he discovered that he wasn’t the only one armed in that little encounter, one had to admire the fact that Bob had the stones to take action. Having told him the whole story of how Hutch died and the subsequent investigation—or, more accurately, the lack of it—Harry replied, “I’m wondering what’s happening with the other brothers.”

  “What do you want to be happening?”

  “I want them to be on their way here to join me in cornering these killers.”

  “That’s not the way the real world works, pal. These guys have lives, and families, and responsibilities. They’re not about to take the risk of losing that, not even for Hutch. He was a fraternity brother, Harry, not a blood relation, and that’s the reality of it.”

  “Yeah, well, not for me.”

  “Yeah, well, if what you’ve told me is true, you’re the only one whose life is on the line. Hutch should never have put you in that position.”

  Harry considered the statement. “That wasn’t his intent. He only intended for me to have the information because he knew he could trust me.”

  “Still....”

  “Listen, I know where you’re coming from, and in most situations I’d agree with you, but we’re a different group. You’ll see.”

  Bob nodded and said, “You have great trust in your fellow man, my friend.”

  Again, Harry considered Bob’s comment when his phone went off. It was Fish’s number on the caller ID. “Yeah,” Harry said curtly.

  “This is Sally. What do you want on your pizza?”