Among Thieves

He took out his cell phone and dialed the number.

“Yes,” the man answering the line said.

“It’s me.”

“And?”

“Murphy’s dead.”

“How?”

“How do you think?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. He was beaten. Badly.”

“Tortured?”

“That’s a reasonable conclusion based on what I saw. And there was a message written next to the body.”

“What was it?”

“‘The Storm.’”

“That’s our boy. Have there been any others yet?”

“Not that I know of. Murphy’s bodyguard was killed, but he’s not involved, and he wasn’t tortured. Maybe there won’t be any others at all.” As Hewitt spoke, the coroner’s assistants wheeled two gurneys out of the Body Shop. They were laughing as they slid the body bags into the van.

“There will be others. Otherwise, why send the message?”

“If so, then we don’t know who they are yet. I haven’t heard about anything else that matches what was done here, and I would have heard about it.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. “Stay on top of it. This is the break we’ve been looking for.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think it’s time for me to be more involved. I’m coming to Boston.”

Chapter Four

It took Fi

Patriots’ Day, which marks the battles of Lexington and Concord in 1775, is celebrated only in Boston. It’s one of three smug local holidays intended to remind an indifferent world of Boston ’s place in American history. For all the city’s parochial pride, however, few Americans would have heard of Lexington and Concord were it not for Schoolhouse Rock. Even worse, few Bostonians have any idea what Patriots’ Day is intended to celebrate. They do know, though, that it means an extra day off, and it’s the day on which the Boston Marathon is run every year. It’s also a day the Boston Red Sox play a special morning game at Fenway Park. The holiday causes mayhem in the city, as people line the streets early, and the bars are packed by midmorning.

Fi

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, squeezing into his seat.

“Your loss,” Kozlowski replied. He was a butcher’s block of a man in his early fifties, with a bold, carved face marred by a long scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to the bottom of his ear. He was dressed in cheap polyester slacks and a sport coat Goodwill would have turned down. Blue collar through and through, he’d spent a quarter of a century in the Boston Police Department, most of it in homicide, before he was pushed out and became a private detective. The cop inside him wouldn’t let go, though. He worked out of a small office in the brownstone in Charlestown where Fi

“I said I was sorry.”

“I heard you.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Problem is, you’re late. We been coming to this game ever since you started the firm. It’s a tradition.”

“I only started the firm a couple of years ago,” Fi

“Even worse. New traditions are fragile.”

“Quit your bitching and watch the game,” Lissa said. She was a small, attractive, razor-tongued woman in her mid-thirties, with thick dark hair and a strong jaw. She’d worked as a paralegal for Fi

“You’re the one who’s been bitching about him for the past hour,” Kozlowski said to her. “Don’t play all i

“I’ve never played i

Kozlowski grunted. “True enough.” To Fi

“ Nashua Street.”

“New client?”

“Maybe. Old acquaintance; we need to talk about whether he’s go

“Anyone I would know?”

“You remember Devon Malley?” Fi

“From Southie? The thief?”

“That’s the guy. You know much about him?”

Kozlowski shook his head. “Not really. He had a rep for a while, but it died. He was basically a minor player.”

A beer vendor passed in front of them in the aisle. Lissa put her fingers in her mouth and gave a deafening whistle. It was loud enough to startle the young man, and he nearly dropped his tray. “Yo! Three over here!” she yelled.

Fi

“Jesus, you’re a pansy,” she replied. She pulled out her purse and found a twenty.

“You sure you don’t want me to get these?” Fi

“Keep your wallet in your pants, boss. I’ve got more money than you.”

“True. But still…”

She looked at him. “You really want to pay?”

“Not really, no.”

“Fine. Then shut up.”

Fi

“Robbery,” Fi

“No shit, that’s what he does. You wa

“Not really.” Fi

“Allegedly,” Lissa tossed in.

“Good girl,” Fi

“How allegedly?” Kozlowski asked.

Fi

Kozlowski shook his head. “That’s not very allegedly. It’s go

“It was high-end stuff,” Fi

“I’d hope so.” Kozlowski took a huge bite out of a bratwurst that had been sitting on a cardboard tray on his lap. A chunk of sauerkraut and mustard toppled off the end and splattered onto the front of his shirt. Fi

“Don’t know yet. All I’ve got is his side of the story. I don’t know where the cops are with this. Maybe we can come up with something. Devon seems to think that when he gets out he might be able to throw someone else to the DA. Maybe get probation.” Fi

“So it sounds like a shitty case,” Kozlowski said. “Why would we want it?”

Fi

“Easy,” Kozlowski said. “Tongue on the top of your mouth, exhale and round your lips. N-n-n-o-o-o. See?” Fi

“No, I told him maybe. But I’m thinking yes.”

“I thought you said we were go

“So, I’m discussing. Like I said, I feel bad for the guy. I’d like to help him out.”

“How old is he?” Lissa asked.