Eight In The Box Part 8

Alves dangled the bag in front of him, and Mooney looked up from the clutter on his desk. "Thai food?" he smiled. "From The King and I? My favorite. Hope you got me a fork. I'm not eating with sticks. How can you be so good to me after I've been riding you all week?" the clutter on his desk. "Thai food?" he smiled. "From The King and I? My favorite. Hope you got me a fork. I'm not eating with sticks. How can you be so good to me after I've been riding you all week?"

"This is a thank-you for letting me go to the party the other night. That saved my marriage. Besides, I'm not being that good to you," Alves said. "I dropped a bag of food off for Marcy and the kids so she wouldn't have to cook tonight. We usually do pizza on Fridays, but I figured this would be a special treat for her. Marcy wasn't happy, but she seemed to understand. Luckily she blames you for everything."

"I'll take the hit for you, as long as you keep feeding me," Mooney said. "Let me give you some money." He took his ratty old wallet, bound together with rubber bands, out of his back pocket.

"Sarge, your money is no good here," Alves said. He waved Mooney off. "And, what's with the wallet? It's falling apart. When's your birthday? I'll buy you a new one."

"There's nothing wrong with this wallet." Mooney took the white containers out of the bag and set them up on the day's edition of the Boston Globe. Boston Globe. "Elastics make it harder for a pickpocket." "Elastics make it harder for a pickpocket."

"So does the gun on your hip. You really think someone's going to steal a wallet from a cop?"

"You can never be too careful. Now sit down and pa.s.s the pad thai."

Alves piled some food on a plate and took a bite before flipping through some missing-persons reports. He hated not having dinner with the family, especially on pizza night. The kids loved pizza. Angel had to have pepperoni and Iris had to have extra cheese. He'd barely seen his family all week. He actually missed giving the kids their baths and arguing with them to brush their teeth and tucking them into bed. Most of all he missed the quiet time he and Marcy had together once the kids were asleep, even if it was only an hour or so before they went to bed themselves.

Alves looked at Mooney. The sergeant seemed wiped out. Five days had gone by and they were no closer to catching Susan McCarthy's killer.

"Sarge, I've gone back more than a year on the missing persons. The only one remotely close is Emily Knight. The one similarity is that she's a professional, white woman. But she's much younger, twenty-two. Never married, lots of boyfriends, nothing serious. She'd been renting an apartment in a two-family."

Mooney looked up, interested. "What's the story on her disappearance?"

"She leaves work on a Friday night last fall and never shows up for work the following Monday morning. No one reports her missing until her boss calls us."

"Did she like her job?"

"She made decent money, but a few of her co-workers said she hated the work. Apparently the stress was getting to her and she felt like she was wasting her life. Looks like she may have taken off to get away from everything."

"Did she take any of her belongings?"

"She didn't have much to take. Some old furniture she got at yard sales and the clothes she wore to work. She could be hitchhiking across the U.S. of A. for all we know. Remember those two jacka.s.s college students who took off to Florida a couple of years ago? Their parents got the police to launch a nationwide search for the two idiots. Based on what her friends and family said about her flightiness, I can see Emily Knight doing something like that."

"If you think it's a dead end, don't bother looking into it anymore." Mooney took a bite of his pad thai.

"I don't think it's going anywhere, Sarge, but right now I feel like everything's a dead end. We interviewed everyone on the list we got from New Balance and have nothing. What does it matter if Eunice can make a match to the mold if we can't find the shoe?"

"I've checked local mailmen, milkmen, garbagemen, meter readers, census takers and paperboys. You name them and I've talked to them. None of them has a record and they all seemed genuine in what they told me. If we keep at it we'll eventually make our own luck and get this guy."

"I think I've gotten everything I'm going to get out of these missing-persons files," Alves said.

"What about the s.e.x offenders? Anything there?"

"I've got a good list of possibles, but it's a long list. I ran their records, pulled their police reports and made a file for each guy."

"We need to pay each one a visit," Mooney said. "We can start in the morning. For now, why don't you go home and get some rest?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. You'll probably feel better in the morning. New day, all that s.h.i.+t. I'll stay here and look through those s.e.x offender files."

Alves gulped down one last mouthful of noodles and went for the door before Mooney could change his mind. When he turned back to say good night, Mooney was looking out over the lights of Ruggles Station and Northeastern University, eating the rest of the pad thai out of the carton.

CHAPTER 26.

Connie raised his gla.s.s above his head as the crew from the office gathered around him for a toast. What better way to end the week than to unwind at Doyle's? One of Boston's most historic bars, the walls were lined with pictures of famous local politicians: the Fitzgeralds, the Kennedys and former mayors Kevin White and Ray Flynn. The place was packed. The gang from the DA's office had staked out their usual corner of the bar. "To Andi Norton, the best prosecutor-who's-not-really-quite-yet-a-lawyer-but-still-managed-to-kick-some-serious-a.s.s-in-court-this-week-by-keeping-a-jury-out-for-three-days-before-finally-getting-a-guilty-on-her-first-shot-at-putting-eight-in-the-box," Connie said without taking a breath. gathered around him for a toast. What better way to end the week than to unwind at Doyle's? One of Boston's most historic bars, the walls were lined with pictures of famous local politicians: the Fitzgeralds, the Kennedys and former mayors Kevin White and Ray Flynn. The place was packed. The gang from the DA's office had staked out their usual corner of the bar. "To Andi Norton, the best prosecutor-who's-not-really-quite-yet-a-lawyer-but-still-managed-to-kick-some-serious-a.s.s-in-court-this-week-by-keeping-a-jury-out-for-three-days-before-finally-getting-a-guilty-on-her-first-shot-at-putting-eight-in-the-box," Connie said without taking a breath.

The room cheered.

"You were most excellent in court today!" Brendan shouted from behind the bar. Brendan had been tending bar at Doyle's since he was hired as a prosecutor. Like all the bartenders at Doyle's, he doubled as a bouncer. A lot of young prosecutors worked second jobs-one taught Irish step dancing, another sold real estate, a couple coached high school sports.

Connie glanced at Andi. She didn't like being the center of attention, but he'd convinced her she needed to come out for a drink. She'd done a great job on her first trial and she had to let everyone congratulate her. It was tradition.

Mitch chanted "Speech! Speech! Speech!" and everyone joined in.

Andi put her gla.s.s down on the bar and stood up. "I want to thank you guys for being supportive." She was showing cla.s.s, being so humble. Especially with Nick and Mitch in the room. Lately, neither one could get a conviction. She really was a nice person, and Connie admired that about her. "You have made it fun to come to work. I only won this trial because of everything you taught me. Thanks."

One more loud cheer from the group and they went back to their drinks. Andi worked her way over to Connie. He leaned in close to her and said, "I want you to know I'm proud of you. You really did a nice job. You don't need to decide right now, but I want you to second-seat me on the Jesse Wilc.o.x trial. I need your help doing some research for the motion to suppress too."

Andi looked stunned. "Sounds great. Can we talk about it next week? I need to get going," she said. "My mom was good enough to babysit for me, but I can't leave her with Rachel all night. It's not too early for me to take off, is it?"

"Eight o'clock. You made your appearance and gave your speech. This is a perfect time to exit. Don't say good-bye to anyone except Liz. Otherwise you'll never get out of here. Nick's quite a yapper when he's had a few."

Andi laughed. "Nick's preoccupied with Monica. Haven't you noticed that he's been hitting on her all week? It looks like she might be caving in to his charm."

"I'm sure he's using his 'I do this work because I want to see justice served' line or some other bulls.h.i.+t to make her think he's not just trying to get up her skirt. Are you good to drive?"

"I only had one beer that I've nursed for two hours."

"Drive carefully. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He kissed her. Not a long one, more of a peck on the lips. He didn't want to make a scene or give the guys ammo, but he wanted her to know how he felt about her.

Connie turned back to the bar to look for Mitch.

"Your little protegee did a nice job."

Connie saw that Nick had come up behind him.

"She's not even a lawyer and you give her more advice than you've ever given the rest of us."

Connie didn't like the tone of Nick's voice. "I help out anyone who wants the help. Ask Mitch and Brendan how I taught them to prepare a case. It's just that some people think they already know everything and don't need any advice."

"I'm not looking for your advice."

"Then, what are you doing?" Connie moved closer to Nick, crowding him. He could smell the beer on his breath. He knew he should just step away.

"I'm just making an observation that you spend more time with Andi than anyone else. Maybe your relations.h.i.+p with her is getting in the way of your job. You're the senior lawyer. You should be mentoring all of us. Not just the intern you happen to be f.u.c.king this week."

Connie b.u.mped him backward and Nick sprawled freely, barely managing to catch himself on a chair. "I'm going to ignore what you just said because you've had one too many. But if you ever say anything like that again"-Connie paused, trying to count to ten but only getting to four-"you'll be one sorry f.u.c.k. I understand you might be jealous of Andi, but that's no reason to get nasty."

"Jealous?" Nick laughed. "What the h.e.l.l would I be jealous about?"

"Maybe the fact that you suck as a lawyer? Maybe the fact that you've had ten trials and have yet to convict anyone? Then Andi walks in and on her first trial hooks the guy. If you want to start winning some trials, I'd be more than glad to take on another protege."

"f.u.c.k you. Those cases I took to trial were dogs. I don't care what the end result was. It's not about wins and losses, it's about justice."

"Is that what you told Monica when she asked you about your record? That's your standard line, isn't it? You're right about me not mentoring enough of the younger lawyers. I'm going to start with Monica right now. I think she'd be much better off learning from me. Don't you think?"

"Stay away from her, Connie."

"I'll leave Monica alone if you stop f.u.c.king with me and Andi. Otherwise, I'll let her know what a fraud you are."

"All right, boys," Brendan interrupted them. He put a hand on each of their shoulders. "I've been watching you two for the last couple of minutes and it looks like you both have your beer b.a.l.l.s. n.o.body can win this one. The DA could stop in here any minute and you'll both be looking for jobs. Besides, I don't want to have to toss you out on your a.s.ses."

"Everything's fine. Isn't it, Nick?" Connie said. "We just had a talk and we've reached an understanding." Connie stared at Nick, who nodded his head in agreement. "See? Everything's peachy keen." Connie put his hand on Nick's back like they were old buddies.

Nick shrugged him off and angled his way through the crowd back to Monica.

Connie smiled at Brendan. "I'll have another club soda," he said.

CHAPTER 27.

Richter crept down the hall of the bungalow. Ahead of him, he could see that the bedroom door was slightly ajar. The electronic melody of a cell phone being activated chimed somewhere in the darkness. She was in her bed, blankets pulled over her head. She must have heard him moving around. And now she was calling for help. see that the bedroom door was slightly ajar. The electronic melody of a cell phone being activated chimed somewhere in the darkness. She was in her bed, blankets pulled over her head. She must have heard him moving around. And now she was calling for help.

He hadn't expected her to be awake. He lunged toward her, holding her down with the full weight of his body. She tried to scream, but the sound was m.u.f.fled by Richter's left hand pressing the blankets firmly over her face. Reaching under them with his right hand, he grabbed for her throat. He regretted having to wear the latex gloves. When he was sure he had a firm grip on her, Richter pulled the blankets off her face. With his free hand he ripped the phone away. No one on the other end of the line. He'd gotten to her before she made a call. He flipped it shut. For that one instant when the illuminated blue b.u.t.tons on the phone lit both of their faces, Richter felt that she might have recognized who he was, but he wanted to be sure.

He scanned the room for a light and spotted a lamp on the bureau on the other side of the room. He lifted her off the bed by her neck. She struggled to push his hand away, pounding him in the chest, her feet scissoring in the air as she tried to kick him. Richter carried her across the room and turned on the small lamp. He wanted her to see him at the moment of her salvation. He wanted her to appreciate what he was doing for her. As the light came on, she saw Richter's face, and he saw a moment of recognition come into her wide eyes.

She tried to speak, her mouth sliding, opening, closing. No sound. If Richter loosened his grip, she would probably beg him to take whatever he wanted and leave her alone, promising she'd never tell anyone.

But Richter had no intention of releasing her. He'd never hear her say anything. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. He wasn't there to steal or rape. His was a n.o.bler intention. Richter had come to her to free her from her ordinary existence.

He placed his other hand on her neck and began to squeeze firmly. The expression on her face said "Please let me live. Please spare me." Richter felt no anger or hatred. He did feel joy, even though she didn't understand what he was doing for her.

She made one last effort to elbow and kick him, but her body was already weakened, the blows ineffectual. Richter felt as if his two hands would come together. He could simply have snapped her neck, but that would've been much less meaningful. This way he could watch the life leave her body slowly. She'd have more time to see and appreciate him.

Then he saw the look of thanks in her eyes. Her struggling eased, her body sagging onto the side of the bed. Richter loosened his grip and placed her head gently down on the mattress. The pillows were on the floor and the bedding was twisted. The struggle had been more violent than he'd realized. He leaned down and felt faint puffs of air from her nose and mouth. She was still alive, but unconscious. Richter had to hurry now. He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and carried her toward the bathroom.

Richter had a full night of work ahead.

CHAPTER 28.

Mooney stepped out onto the back deck of Robyn Stokes's house. The cool air was refres.h.i.+ng, just what he needed. It was finally starting to feel like winter again. Winter had always been his favorite season. As a kid, the changing seasons dictated what sports he and his friends would play: baseball in the spring, basketball in the summer, football in the fall and hockey in the winter. But there was nothing like the cold winter air, chilling his lungs during a pickup ice hockey game on a frozen pond. Tonight was perfect weather for one of those games. What he'd give to be a kid again, flying around on a sheet of ice. No need to worry about women being murdered. No need to think about families being devastated. No need to feel the pressure of being the one person with the responsibility to stop the killing. The cool air was refres.h.i.+ng, just what he needed. It was finally starting to feel like winter again. Winter had always been his favorite season. As a kid, the changing seasons dictated what sports he and his friends would play: baseball in the spring, basketball in the summer, football in the fall and hockey in the winter. But there was nothing like the cold winter air, chilling his lungs during a pickup ice hockey game on a frozen pond. Tonight was perfect weather for one of those games. What he'd give to be a kid again, flying around on a sheet of ice. No need to worry about women being murdered. No need to think about families being devastated. No need to feel the pressure of being the one person with the responsibility to stop the killing.

Mooney looked up into the cloudless sky, the only obstruction to his view the steam from his breath. Entranced by the crescent moon, the bright stars, he wondered how this could have happened. He'd known there would be another victim if he didn't catch this lunatic, but he hadn't expected one so soon. The 911 call had come in five days after the one placed from the McCarthy house.

Mooney had been at his desk when Operations notified him of the call. A monotone voice informed him, "I think your killer's back." A wash of darkness swept through him. "Who's our victim? What's the address? Who is the supervisor on scene?" he'd asked. Only a few hours earlier he'd sent Alves home to spend some time with his wife, maybe make up for taking him away from her birthday party.

Mooney didn't tell Alves the victim's name over the phone. He would have to tell him this one in person. He needed to keep an eye on him to make sure he could still do his job effectively. If Alves became emotionally involved, Mooney might have to take him off the case. But he didn't want to do that. Not now. They were so far into the investigation and Alves had worked too hard to be thrown aside like that.

Mooney took another deep breath of the cold air. Now he and Alves would have to tell another family, this time a friend, that their daughter, granddaughter, sister, aunt was dead; that from this moment forward their lives would never be the same. A homicide survivor had once told Mooney that losing a child was like losing a limb; that it never gets better, you just kind of get used to it not being there.

A star shot across the sky and he thought of Robyn Stokes, her soul released from her mortal body. He said a prayer for her and her family before sliding the gla.s.s door and walking back into her house.

CHAPTER 29.

Alves wiped at the tears as he drove. Enough. Now he needed to be strong. be strong.

When Mooney first told him the name of the victim, Alves had tried to convince himself that it was another Robyn Stokes that had been murdered. After all, the Robyn Stokes he knew, with whom he had grown up, was from Mission Hill, not Mattapan. But he hadn't asked her where she was living when he saw her at the party. He didn't know about the house she'd bought in Mattapan. Mooney showed Alves her hospital ID photo, the pictures on the mantel, a shot of her and her mother at her nursing school graduation. This was his Robyn.

He would tell Marcy in the morning. It would be tough. But it would be nothing like telling Mrs. Stokes of her daughter's death. He'd told Mooney that he would do this alone. Mrs. Stokes deserved to learn the news from an old friend, not a stranger. Strangers had come to notify her of her husband's death years earlier. Mr. Stokes was shot during a robbery of the corner store where he worked. Angel and Robyn were kids at the time, playing catch in front of her apartment when the detectives pulled up. Even at that age, they knew what an unmarked police car was, and they also knew that the police never showed up with good news. The detectives, maybe one of them was a young Wayne Mooney, went inside and only stayed for a few minutes. After they left, Angel and Robyn went in to see what had happened. Mrs. Stokes was on the floor wailing. The sounds were so unreal that Angel first thought she was laughing.

Robyn was not the same after that day. She never wanted to come out and hang out. She stopped playing sports. She had always dreamed about being the first woman professional baseball player. She threw left-handed with a natural curve. At the time, he didn't doubt that she'd play pro ball if she wanted to.

As he pulled up in front of her mother's house, Alves could see Robyn Stokes as the young girl with the nasty curveball who was going to play for the Red Sox someday. She wore that bright smile that he never saw again after the day the detectives came to her house.

Now he was the detective coming to tear her mother's heart out. He wiped his face with his sleeve and took a deep breath before stepping from the car. It was a long climb up the five steps to the door. One more breath before ringing the bell.

He had to ring it a second time before he saw a light come on upstairs. It was a few more minutes before the door opened, and an elderly Mrs. Stokes stood before him in her bathrobe with a momentary smile of recognition. She hadn't seen him since he'd moved out of the neighborhood. "h.e.l.lo, Angel," she said, sleepily. "What are you doing here? You look so handsome in that suit."