After three days of searching, the only thing that Hunter, Judd, and Dennis could find out about Matthew Parnell was that he was one hell of a swell guy in New England. They had no probable cause, so obtaining any kind of warrant for deeper investigation was out of the question. There was nothing found on Evan Crescent, which didn’t surprise any of them since he stayed in the shadows and only came out when called, and very little learned about Dr. Elias Michaelson.
Hunter and Judd had met with, and told the story to, the assistant director of the FBI, the US Marshals, and the federal prosecutor. They wouldn’t have to prove that Parnell personally committed any kind of illegal activity, all they would have to prove was that he owned or managed a criminal organization that performed specific illegal activity, which was what Parnell was doing when he paid people to erase problems. Witness protection would absolutely be available to Alice and her family, as well as Chloe or anybody else, should they choose to testify against him. If what Chloe had told Hunter was true, that Parnell had his hands in many powerful pockets, and if he chose to name names while in custody, the situation could get stickier than fresh pulled taffy, and the publicity would only make it worse.
But before any promises of witness protection could be made or any deals struck, an investigation of the threat or potential for danger had to be conducted. If the potential threats were deemed credible, and Hunter was certain they would be, then the final decision for protection would be made.
The same would be said for Mack Finley.
Hunter stood behind his desk, inventorying all of the files that had to do with the Black Rose Murders. His stack of files had grown to nine; he had handwritten notes and two folders full of printouts, photos, and all of the information they were able to find on Matthew Parnell, Evan Crescent, and Dr. Elias Michaelson. Unfortunately, neither folder was as thick as he had been hoping. His puzzle pieces were in neat stacks on his desk and all he had to do was put them together, then find the missing few.
Judd knocked on the door to Hunter’s office and leaned in. “They’re here.”
***
Hunter exchanged a good-to-see-you nod with Finley’s lawyer as he and Judd entered the conference room and took their seats with their backs facing the partially shaded glass doors. Mack Finley sat next to his lawyer, his hands resting on the table in front of him, handcuffs firmly in place. Finley’s lawyer, Doug Comeaux, was a good guy and a fair man, a criminal lawyer for twenty years who obviously didn’t like working with criminals anymore.
“Agent Lawton,” Doug said in greeting.
“Doug,” Hunter replied, getting comfortable in his chair without looking at Finley.
“Who the hell is this?” Finley asked, indicating Judd.
Judd was silent and observed the interviewee. Mack Finley was twenty-seven years old and cocky. His orange jumpsuit had a smell to it that suggested it probably hadn’t been washed in a few days, his jet-black hair was slicked back with what smelled like grease and shit, and he wore a smug grin that showed teeth that occasionally had a passing acquaintance with a toothbrush.
“This is Agent Fowler,” Hunter flatly replied as he helped himself to a cup of coffee from the tray on the table.
Finley gave Judd a look of repugnance, his eyes slanted and his mouth drawn tight. “I don’t want him here.”
“Too damn bad,” Hunter said.
Finley’s face tightened in avid disappointment and he slumped in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him as Hunter sat back, sipping his coffee.
Finley gave his lawyer a glare, then turned to Hunter, who was looking back at Finley casually and uncaring. The lack of importance and urgency they were showing wasn’t what Finley was expecting or wanting.
Hunter smiled into his coffee cup as he pictured Dennis sitting behind the glass, feet propped up, reading the newspaper.
“Let’s start with why we’re here,” Doug said in an attempt to move things along.
Finley gave a wide smile like he had a secret he was dying to tell but waiting for the right time. “Okay, I only did what I did because I was told to. It was my job to deliver from point A to point B and make sure the delivery got there on time and in one piece. When I got pulled over, the cops started asking me all kinds of questions about what I had in the car and why was I acting all twitchy, walking around my car all suspicious like I was hiding something. If that delivery wouldn’t have been made, my ass would have been in the ground long before you got to me. The only reason you caught me was because I got sent down here again and was stupid enough to drive from Atlantic City on the same route.”
“Stupid is one way of saying it,” Hunter said.
Finley leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. The sleeves of his jumpsuit slid up, revealing a simple tattoo on his right inner forearm. His tattoo was nothing special, just a badly faded and indeterminable letter of the alphabet in black outline, three inches long and one inch wide.
Finley said with a hard look, “You don’t fuck with this guy I work for. He says and you do. You don’t and you die. It’s that simple. I did what I was told. I’d rather be in jail than on the receiving end of him being pissed off, that’s for sure.”
“And you don’t think testifying against him will piss him off?” Judd asked, and was answered with a hard glare from Finley.
“I get witness protection, then I won’t have to worry about that. Will I?”
“You traveled a lot to make your deliveries, right?” Judd asked.
“Sure.”
“All over the country or just specific places?”
“East Coast, man. All up and down the East Coast.”
“So you delivered to multiple locations and dealt with a lot of different people. What about the people you delivered to for the first time? How did they know you were the guy to deal with?”
“They just did.”
Judd sat back and inclined his head, indicating Finley’s tattoo. “I just thought maybe they knew who you were because of your tattoo.”
Finley immediately tensed as Hunter leaned forward and grabbed his arm to get a closer look at the tattoo.
“Hey!” Finley shouted.
Doug reached over and pulled Hunter’s grip off Finley’s arm. “Come on, Agent. You know better than that. Let him go.”
Finley rubbed his arm. “What the fuck, man? It’s just a tattoo.”
Hunter wisely kept his mouth shut in an effort to calm down before speaking again.
“So he’s the bad cop and you’re the good cop?” Finley asked Judd.
“Let’s just move this along,” Doug said, then turned to Hunter. “You good?”
Keeping his focus on Finley, Hunter nodded.
“Okay,” Judd said. “So, just for clarification—and you’ve already admitted this—you did what you did because you would rather face federal prison than piss off your boss?”
“So?” Finley said with a scoff.
“Then I guess I’m confused,” Judd said. “If you’re so afraid of this man, why are you willing to turn on him now?”
“Because I don’t want to go to federal prison, and if I talk to you, Uncle Sam will take care of me. I’d rather be alive in witness protection than dead anywhere else.”
Hunter spoke, his irritation rapidly growing. “So what does this have to do with me? Why did you want me here when you could just have your attorney deal with it?”
Finley leaned forward as far as he could and spoke in a cool voice. “Because I know something you don’t know, and if I tell you, I’m pretty sure you’ll help me.” Finley leaned back and shrugged his shoulders. “Then again, you never know.”
Doug caught both Hunter’s and Judd’s eye and gave a slight, solemn nod. Yes, Hunter would find the information interesting after all.
Hunter looked back to Finley. “Yeah? And what do you know that I don’t?”
Finley’s grin widened enough so the corners of his mouth reached the bottom of his eyes. Relaxing in his chair, Finley spoke like he had the winning lottery numbers in his pocket. “The guy I work for, he’s a big mucky-muck on the East Coast, owns a bunch of hotels and casinos. He has a lot of business going through there, if you know what I mean. I tell you, man, Atlantic City would shut down if this guy goes down.” Finley was obviously hoping for some kind of reaction and got nothing, so he continued. “Anyway, I’m in Atlantic City and his guy comes up to me and says the man wants to see me. So, I go up there, he gives me a couple suitcases and says to take them down here. So, I do.”
“We know all this, Finley. Get to the point,” Hunter interrupted impatiently.
Finley raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Jesus, man. I’m getting to it. So anyway, I’m down here now, what? Two years? Guys in prison, they like to talk, and they talk about all kinds of stuff. But what caught my ear was that a few of the guys in there know you—well, hate you is more like it. Anyway, they were talking, trading stories and shit, and I heard about your wife.”
Hunter’s eyes widened in surprise, then quickly squinted, staring at Finley with dangerous curiosity.
Judd cast a cautious sideways glance at Hunter. Doug sat silently and gave Hunter an apologetic look. Finley gave a satisfied and cruel grin.
Hunter hardened his face and spoke in a calm, yet demanding tone. “What about my wife?”
“I know who killed her,” Mack said smugly as he wiped his nose with his sleeve, “and I know who ordered it. The good news is that you don’t have to worry about it anymore. The guy who did it got shanked a few years back, so there’s that.”
Hunter was breathing deeply through his nose, glaring at Finley with the full intention of throwing him through the window behind him.
Finley leaned forward again. “I hear she was a real beauty, that wife of yours. I also hear she had herself a tattoo on her back. A flower, right? A rose?”
Hunter continued his hard stare. “What about it?”
Finley was starting to twitch in his seat, excited by the reaction he got from the FBI agent. “There’s a bunch of other women with the same tattoo who are ending up in the morgue too.”
Hunter’s mind raced to the only logical thing Mack could say next. It would be the same thing he heard the other night with Chloe.
Finley leaned back in his chair, resting his hands across his chest with a satisfied grin. “Well, now, seems your wife and these other dead girls with that tattoo all work for the same guy. The same guy I work for. The same guy who ordered the hit on your wife and the same guy I am willing to tell you about for protection.”
Hunter desperately wanted to lunge across the table and strangle Mack Finley where he sat. Judd saw it and turned to Finley, asking the question he already knew the answer to. “Who’s your boss, Mack?”
Hunter could see from the look on his face that Finley was having second thoughts. “Hey, you came to us.”
Finley let out a heavy sigh. “His name is Parnell.”
Furious, Hunter silently shook his head while berating himself for letting his distractions get the best of him and not figuring it out sooner.
“Matthew Parnell?” Judd asked. “The mob boss in Boston? That Matthew Parnell?”
Amused, Finley replied, “You know him, huh?”
The animosity in Finley’s eyes that he was directing at Hunter as he turned his head changed to sudden and uncontrollable fear as a figure casually passed in front of the doors. His face had gone slack and the pit of his stomach dropped to his feet. The three other men in the room exchanged confused looks at this sudden onset of fear and change of behavior. Finley was looking past Hunter through the glass doors of the room, his eyes focused and unwavering. He went from twitching excitedly to near wetting himself in a matter of seconds, and his hands were trembling, like he was getting ready to jump out of a plane at ten thousand feet with no guarantee that the chute would open. The others watched in cautious curiosity as Finley slowly stood and apprehensively walked to the door, cocking his head to get a better view. He muttered a few words under his breath and definitively spun around.
Finley adamantly shook his head and his voice shook with fear. “Nope. I’m done. You assholes set me up.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Hunter asked. “Sit down.”
“You know what he does when he wants to deal with someone who’s a problem? He sends someone to get you. You set me up, called him, and told him that I was coming to talk to you guys.”
“He sends someone?” Judd asked, confused. “What the hell—”
“He sends someone! Someone to take you back to him! And if you can’t get back to him, then they just kill you where you stand! And if you think I’m going to say another word while she’s out there, you can think again! Ain’t fucking happening!”
Doug led Finley back to his seat as Hunter peeked out the door. Surprised by what he saw, and further confused by Finley’s reaction to it, Hunter lifted the blinds on the doors, giving everyone in the room a clear view of the lobby where a woman sat patiently. Hunter was the only one who knew it was Chloe, sitting casually and minding her own business, flipping through the pages of a magazine, completely oblivious to the panic she had stirred up in Finley. Although the timing was bad, for a second or two he was happy to see her, and then suddenly wondered what she was doing there and why Finley was so afraid of her. Doug and Judd looked to Hunter for some kind of explanation, but he didn’t have one.
Hunter turned back to Finley. “Who is she?”
Finley gave Hunter an exasperated look. “Are you kidding me? If he sent her, then it’s over! I’m a dead man!” He threw his hands in front of him, motioning at Chloe. “Who is she, he asks. She’s his goddamn daughter!”
***
In the observation room, Dennis sat up in his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and his hands dangling between his knees, paying close attention. Even though Dennis couldn’t see her, he knew who Finley was talking about. Dennis’s jaw gaped open and he said out loud, “I’ll be goddamned.”
Sitting behind Dennis in the last free chair, the assistant director of the FBI was quietly observing the interview with concentrated interest. He and Dennis were of the same age, but unlike Dennis, this man wasn’t planning on retiring any time soon. The only way he would ever retire from the Bureau was by death. His name was Jack Lawrence and he had a phone call to make.