Among Thieves (46 page)

“Who, then?”

“Hewitt.”

“No,” Kozlowski said. “I know him; he’s not behind this.”

“Come on, Koz,” Finn said. “I know you’re friends with the guy, but he was working on the organized crime task force back
in the eighties and nineties. He would have had plenty of opportunity to get to know Bulger. He had contacts that he could
have used to orchestrate the whole thing.”

“I don’t buy it.” Kozlowski wasn’t budging. “There were plenty of others who would have had just as much motive, just as much
opportunity.”

“How many of those others were involved in this investigation? How many of them were there when Devon was killed? How many
of them shot Kilbranish?”

“Fuck you, you’re wrong.”

“How can you say that?”

“Enough!” Lissa interjected. Her voice was loud enough that the bartender turned and looked at them. She lowered the volume.
“Who cares?” she demanded. “These are just paintings we’re talking about. Who the fuck cares where they are now?”

“They’re not just paintings,” Finn objected.

“Yes, they are,” she said. “They’re just paintings. They’re expensive paintings. They’re nice paintings. But they’re just
fucking paintings. And they’re paintings that have gotten people killed. Whoever has them now will kill whoever they have
to to keep them, and I’m not letting either of you be next on the list. It isn’t our problem anymore. Do you two understand
me?”

The two men looked at the table, not answering.

“I’m serious about this,” she said. “I want both of you to just fucking drop it. We have a law firm to run, we have a little
girl to deal with, and we have a baby on the way. This ends now.”

Kozlowski looked at her and took her hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll drop it.”

She looked at Finn. “You?”

He didn’t look up at her, but he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave it alone.”

“Do I have your word?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You have my word.”

Lissa and Kozlowski got married a month later. The ceremony, such as it was, took place in City Hall, that great monument
to Brutalism in the center of nine acres of cold brick and cement. Finn wondered whether Lissa and Koz had considered the
symbolism. Probably not. Their minds weren’t drawn to such mischief in the way his was.

It was just the four of them. Finn served as best man and Sally as maid of honor. The officiant, a young woman who worked
as an assistant clerk for the city, was a justice of the peace. She held a laminated card in front of her eyes and chopped
through sterile questions with all the emotion of a telephone operator. As she ticked through the ceremony intended to bind
the lives of the people before her, Finn couldn’t help hearing her voice as he had thousands of times before: “For English,
press ‘one’ now;
para espanol, apreiete ‘dos’ ahora
.”

That was okay with Finn. In reality the Commonwealth had no power to tie Lissa and Koz together. That decision was theirs
alone. Whether the union was blessed or consecrated or legally binding was bunting and little more. If they were solid together,
the rest would take care of itself. If not, no piece of paper—not even one signed by an assistant clerk of the City of Boston—would
do them any good.

When the questions had been read and the answers given, the woman said, “That’s it. If you got fifty dollars, you’re married.”

Kozlowski and Lissa looked at each other. Finn couldn’t tell whether they seemed different. “Do I kiss the bride?” Kozlowski
asked.

The assistant clerk shrugged. “I guess. Long as you got the fifty dollars.”

Finn dug into his pocket and pulled out three twenties and handed them to her. “I got it,” he said. “You can keep the rest.”

The woman took the money and stamped two forms in triplicate. “You want the receipt?” she asked Finn.

He shook his head.

“Now?” Kozlowski asked.

“Yeah, now,” the woman replied.

Finn watched as Kozlowski and Lissa leaned into each other. They seemed awkward about the kiss, even after living together
for nearly a year. Finn wondered whether everything had changed, and worried briefly that they might not make it. As soon
as their lips touched, though, he could see both of them relax and they melded into each other, all tension gone.

The assistant clerk left before the kiss was over. “Congratulations,” Finn said.

“Thanks,” Lissa replied. They took the escalator up from the basement. The building’s interior made its facade look cozy.
When they got to the main floor Lissa said, “Shit.” Looking at Sally, she corrected herself. “Shoot. I left the marriage license
on the counter.” She looked at Finn. “Come back with me?”

“Sure,” Finn said. He looked at Sally. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

On the escalator down, Lissa said, “She seems to be doing okay.”

Finn nodded. “I think she is. She’s got her good days and her bad days. The good outweigh the bad at this point.”

“I’m glad,” Lissa said. “How are you doing?”

Kozlowski stood in City Hall’s cavernous lobby, waiting for Finn to return with his wife.
My wife
, he thought. The reality staggered him. He’d given up on the notion of marriage years ago. He’d figured he was past the point
where anyone could fall in love for the first time. He’d been wrong.

The girl was there with him, standing a few feet away, looking at him. He tried to avoid her gaze, but found it difficult.
He couldn’t figure out why she was staring. It took a minute before he realized he was smiling. “What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said. “I didn’t know you smiled.”

“I don’t.”

“Me neither. You should do it more. The scar doesn’t look so bad.”

He grunted. After a moment, he said, “So, how are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Finn treating you okay? Making sure you get enough to eat?”

“He’s okay,” she said. “He doesn’t seem like a perv.”

“High praise.”

“I don’t mean it that way. I mean it’s good. It’s just weird.”

“What is?” he asked.

She thought about it. “I never had a normal life before. I’m not used to it.”

He looked her up and down. She was wearing a dress. Her feet were still covered in her heavy black boots, but it was the first
time he’d seen her in anything other than sweats. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said.

“You think?”

He nodded. “I can usually tell. You keep the right people around you, you’ll do fine.”

She seemed to accept it. “You’re gonna be okay, too,” she said.

“You think?”

She nodded. “Just put the toilet seat down. Devon never caught on; I almost fell in a couple times. He said he was too old
to change. Don’t be like that. Don’t be too old to change. You leave the seat up, you’ll lose her.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She looked toward the escalator, and Kozlowski had the impression she was looking over to see whether Finn was coming back.
He’d disagreed with Finn about taking her in while they figured out what to do. Now, though, he thought it had been good for
her.

“I’m fine,” Finn said. Looking at Lissa, he could tell she was skeptical. “I’m serious.” No decisions had been made regarding
Sally, but she was still staying with Finn. They both knew that the time was approaching when they would have to figure out
something permanent.

She frowned. “It can’t go on like this, boss. You know that, right?”

“I know. Did I mention that you look great?” She did, too. As promised, she hadn’t worn white. She was a realist, not a romantic.

“That’s nice of you. I feel like shit.”

“Morning sickness ends after the first trimester, right?” he asked. “You must be there almost.”

“Almost. They say it’s different for everyone, though. And you’re changing the subject.”

“I am.”

“You can’t do it,” she said. “Not anymore. A kid isn’t like a girlfriend. You can’t string them along forever while you make
up your mind. Kids can’t defend themselves the way we can.”

“Have you met Sally?”

“Oh, please, Finn. Can you even see the way she looks at you? You’re like her hero. She looks at you like a lucky kid looks
at their father. She looks at you like maybe she’s gonna have someone in her life who’s gonna look after her. Take care of
her. The way her parents should have. You need to recognize that. You need to see it and deal with it. Because if you let
it go any further—if you let her get comfortable—and then you cut her loose… God help you.”

“I know,” Finn said. “I’m still trying to figure it out. I thought having her around would be a pain in the ass. I thought
I’d hate it. Truth is, I don’t.”

“Great. Just realize what you’d be getting yourself into. Once you’re really in, there’s no going back.”

Finn nodded. “I’ll get it figured out.”

“Soon,” Lissa said. She looked at him for another moment as they headed back to Kozlowski and Sally. “Is there anything else
bothering you?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “What else could be bothering me?” He wondered whether she would ask about the paintings. He wasn’t sure what
he would say. She didn’t ask, though; she simply stepped up on tiptoe, pulled down on his shoulders, and kissed him on the
forehead. He was grateful; he wouldn’t have enjoyed lying to her.

He’d kept his word to her for a couple of weeks: he’d given up on the investigation into the stolen artwork. He tried to keep
the promise longer, but the questions swirled in his mind. What he knew and what he suspected danced together seductively
until he was obsessed. And so, on his own, at night, he would surf the Internet for every scrap of additional information
he could get—about the Gardner robbery and anyone who might have had anything to do with it. When that wasn’t enough, he tapped
some of the other private investigators he sometimes used for jobs not worth Kozlowski’s time. He kept his obsession hidden
from Lissa and Kozlowski.

On the Friday afternoon before the Fourth of July, a week after Lissa and Kozlowski got married, he pulled his notes together
and went over them one final time. There was no way for him to avoid it anymore. With a heavy sigh, he placed the call. Then
he walked outside, climbed into his car, and drove to the museum.

As he walked through the front door, he half expected alarms to go off and security guards to rush at him accusingly, as if
he were the reason the paintings had been lost again. It didn’t happen, of course. The woman at the front desk didn’t even
notice him as she took the twelve-dollar admission fee. There was a security guard walking by, and he glanced at Finn, nodded
politely, and moved on.

Finn climbed the staircase slowly. The place didn’t feel the same as it had when he and Kozlowski first went there. The theft
had been theoretical to him then. A myth. The events of twenty years earlier hadn’t affected his life yet. Now the robbery
felt personal to him; it seemed an affront in the most intimate sense.

He turned the corner at the top of the stairs and headed down the hallway to the Dutch Room. There was no one there; the place
was dead. The paintings on the wall seemed to mourn the empty frames that hung alongside them.

He walked over and stood in front of the spot where Vermeer’s
The Concert
had once hung. He’d never seen it for himself; he’d only seen photographs, but he’d watched documentaries where people wept
in remembrance of its beauty. He wondered whether he would have felt the same way, or whether he would have passed by it without
notice; perhaps even uttered some crass joke at the absurdity of the homage others paid it.

He stood there for a long while, losing all sense of time.

“It is difficult to let go, isn’t it?”

He hadn’t heard anyone enter the room, but recognized the voice. “It is,” he said.

“I understand. Perhaps better than anyone.”

Finn turned around. Sam Bass was sitting in the same chair where Finn and Kozlowski had first seen him, sleeping like the
dead. He looked worse now. He’d lost more weight, and the sides of his tattered jacket hung from his shoulders like curtains
from a rod. His skin was graying, and his eyes had receded even further into their sockets. “I read about you in the papers,”
he said. “I’m sorry this didn’t turn out better.”