Страница 34 из 58
CHAPTER 57
It had been years since Co
Instead of taking a rare sick day, Co
Co
As he was going through the papers, he came across a short article on page three of the Metro Region section, just below the fold. ONE DEAD IN ROXBURY SHOOTING, the small headline proclaimed. In a bold daylight shooting, notorious gang member Marcus Little was shot and killed on Columbia Road. Although the shooting occurred on a busy section of the street, no witnesses have stepped forward. The victim’s younger brother, Darius “D-Lite” Little was arrested after a brief altercation with police. When questioned by reporters, the officer who ordered the arrest, Homicide Sergeant Wayne Mooney, refused comment.
Co
Within weeks, Adams and Flowers turned up dead. Two white high school seniors murdered. With all the pressure to catch the Prom Night Killer, Marcus Little’s murder must have slipped down on the priority list. Co
Co
Interesting story in early September 1998. It was an article about a mob wa
The summer of ’98 had been interesting for a lot of people. Luther going crazy after his brother’s unsolved murder, Zardino taking a hit on a murder he didn’t commit, a city in fear of a violent killer, and Wayne Mooney at the center of it all.
Co
He hadn’t realized how long he was tucked away in the room. The late afternoon sun cast a long shadow of the library toward the Trinity Church. He had spent the entire day squinting into the gray screen. Not even a lunch break. It was worth it, though. He had learned a lot about that summer, and so much had come back to him. He walked toward the church, the sun at his back, a cool afternoon breeze in his face. He would walk down Boylston and then cut over to Comm Ave. and make his way to the Public Garden and the Common. He loved that walk. He needed to relax a bit.
He called his investigators on the cell. He needed them to get some information for him. Now his head was right. Tomorrow he would get his hands dirty. He was looking forward to it.
CHAPTER 58
Alves held the receiver to his ear. He wasn’t certain if he should make the call. But Marcy was standing firm. She wasn’t coming back with the twins till the killer was caught. And if he didn’t mention it to Mooney, the Sarge didn’t need to know about the call. Why close off any avenue that might lead to something?
As he listened to the dial tone, he thought about his day-interviewing students about the last time they’d seen their friends Nathan Tucker and Karen Pine alive. They were students, sophomores at Boston University, found on Peter’s Hill. All he’d uncovered after a day of interviews was that they’d been out with friends at a bar on Monday night. Used fake IDs to get in. Nathan’s friends said he was hoping to go back to her place after they left the bar, but they never made it.
He should be out on the street doing something, but right now he didn’t know what that something was. Alves dialed the number.
A woman with a pleasant voice answered, “FBI. How may I direct your call?”
“Special Agent John Bland, please.”
Alves had met Bland and his partner when they were called in on a case three years ago. But Mooney had seen that their working relationship ended in bad feelings. Mooney had “fired” them, accusing them of undercutting his investigation. Luckily Alves had saved Bland’s card. He was pretty sure Bland was the taller of the two, the one who did most of the talking.
“Detective Alves, nice to hear from you.” He recognized Bland’s voice. “How are things?”
“Not bad.” Alves lied. “You told me three years ago if I ever needed you to give a call.”
“The Prom Night Killer is back.”
“I was wondering if you could look over the case files. Tell me what we might be looking at here.”
“Do you want me to come up to Boston?”
Alves could only imagine Mooney walking in on the agent reading the files.
“Or you can send me copies of the reports, photos, everything from the crime lab and the ME.”
“Sounds good.” Alves couldn’t help but think what a good guy Bland was. He put aside all the bullshit and focused on what was important. “I really appreciate you helping me with this, especially since we haven’t been overly hospitable to you.”
“I understand the position you’re in, detective. I don’t blame you for any of this. Any time we can help catch a murderer, we’re glad to help.”
“I’ll FedEx that stuff to you today.”
“Detective Alves? About that Blood Bath case. That one still bothers me,” Bland said. “I’m not convinced Beaulieu was your killer.”
The accusation was a sucker punch. Robyn Stokes, one of the victims, was a childhood friend. Another was a colleague in the DA’s office. A wave of nausea washed over Alves. Bland’s instinct hit on something he had been asking himself since the day Mitch Beaulieu jumped from that courthouse balcony, taking the truth with him. Something didn’t sit right with the way the case ended.