Do Not Go Gentle (3 page)

“Is there a difference?” asked Jamie. “Hey, if you want to call Eileen and tell her we can't be bothered with this—”

“No, no. That's quite alright. I'm not about to cross a woman as fierce as Eileen.”

“Wiser words were never spoken, boyo.”

Jamie and Cal wasted no time making their pickups at the crime lab and the Cathedral. Navigating Boston's one-way streets was always a joy for Jamie. He'd lived and worked in Boston all his life, but downtown Boston was never a picnic given its notoriously impatient drivers.

It took them an hour and a half to run their “errands” then get to Saint Brendan's, which was near Jamie's house at the far south end of Dorchester. While no longer an incorporated municipality, the Dorchester neighborhood lay just south of Boston proper and still maintained a strong sense of community. Jamie could have risen through the ranks faster if he'd been willing to take assignments at other districts, but Jamie had been born and raised in Dorchester. Other than his stint at Notre Dame, he'd lived in Dorchester all his life.

“How's Brigid doing at Notre Dame?” asked Cal as they made their way south.

“She's settling into her new classes.”

“She still on the water polo team?

“Yeah. It's a club sport, but it gets her in the pool, which gives her an outlet for her energy.”

“How about that boyfriend?”

“Carl? Still together, I think. Eileen would know far more about that than me. At this point, they both assure me it's nothing serious.”

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. That is
always
a bad sign. I think you're in denial.”

Jamie flipped his partner the “Vicky”: an insulting version of the V sign gesture—with the palm inwards, similar to “the finger.” “Yeah, I got your denial right here, laddie.”

They arrived at Saint Brendan's, and Cal offered to stay with the car. “After all, these Catholic enclaves are dangerous,” he said with a smirk.

Jamie did not reply; he grabbed Eileen's brochures and got out of the car. As he turned, Jamie stumbled and almost fell, which was unusual, as he had exceptional balance. Jamie heard Cal power down the window and call out, “Walk much, Jamie?” Jamie gave another “Vicky” to his partner and went into the parish office.

Jan, the parish administrative coordinator, was sitting at her desk and smiled when Jamie came in. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, Detective Griffin?” Jan had known Jamie for almost thirty years, and they were friends.

Jamie held up the box of brochures. “I'm just a lowly errand boy today, Jan. Is himself in his office?”

“Yes. Go right in.”

Jamie walked into the pastor's office. Father Anthony O'Connor was a large, beefy Irishman about Jamie's age. He'd been the pastor at Saint Brendan's for five years, and the parish was hoping the Bishop didn't get any ideas about moving him around any time soon. “Jamie,” said O'Connor, rising to come around and shake Jamie's hand. “A pleasure to see you. What brings you here during a work day?”

Jamie hefted the box and handed it to Father O'Connor. “Eileen browbeat me into picking these up for you down at the Cathedral this morning.”

“Lovely woman. I'll make sure to thank her when I see her Sunday.”

They parted with warm words, and Jamie made his way back to the car.

When Jamie got back to the car, Cal had slid to the driver's seat. “My driving that bad?” joked Jamie as he got in the passenger side. “Usually you don't condescend to drive anything other than your BMW.”

“Just get in.” Cal looked at him in an appraising way as he pulled out of the church parking lot. “You feeling okay, partner?”

“Not really. Why?”

“All kidding aside, you seem unsteady on your feet and out of sorts.”

Jamie smiled. “The great detective. I can't hide anything from my partner. Yeah, I'm feeling a little punk. Headache, my body aches, my stomach is upset, and as you noticed, I'm a little unsteady. Probably just the start of the flu.”

Cal made a warding gesture. “Don't pass it along, buddy. That's the
last
thing I need.”

They arrived at their district offices on Gibson Street a few minutes later. They grabbed a cup of coffee and headed for their desks.

“I suppose we'd better finish the paperwork on ‘Einstein'?” Jamie made a face.

“Indeed. It's onerous, but the sooner started, the sooner done.”

“Cal, is your whole family as nose-to-the-grindstone as you?”

Cal gave Jamie his best Boston Brahmin look down his nose. “You know me, Griffin: I work hard and I play hard.”

Jamie shook his head and settled down to his portion of the paperwork on their latest bust. Cal had been driving their unmarked car down one of Dorchester's main thoroughfares when Jamie noticed a young man with dark clothes and a black mask hanging around his neck. He was just standing outside a grocery store. Jamie had Cal go down a block and turn back. When they reached the store again, the young man had the mask pulled up over his face and had a gun in his right hand. Cal drove down a block, whipped a U-turn, and parked near the store.

After notifying dispatch of their location, they approached the store and saw the young man at the checkout counter with the gun pointed at the clerk. Cal had opened the door, and Jamie had darted through it, both men drawing their guns. They yelled, “Boston Police. Get down on the floor.” The suspect turned toward them and slipped the gun in his right front pocket before lying down on the floor as instructed. With Cal still covering him, Jamie handcuffed the suspect and took the gun, a loaded semi-automatic, from his right front pocket.

They Mirandized him on the way back to the station. Later, in the interview room, the suspect sat on the floor, and Jamie asked him if he was in the store to rob it. The suspect stated, “No.” Then Cal asked him if he entered the store to shoot the black males inside the store. The suspect looked at Cal and nodded his head up and down indicating a yes response. “Not a very bright one, is he?” Cal had asked as he and Jamie were leaving last night, having started their paperwork for the case.

With a deep sigh, Jamie began wading through the remaining paperwork. His mind drifted back to when he had entered the store. When they'd yelled at the suspect to get down, Jamie recalled his uncle's death. Jamie‘s father and Uncle Jimmy, both cops, and 14 year old Jamie had walked into a convenience store one evening on their way home from a Red Sox game and interrupted a robbery. Jimmy Griffin was first through the door, and he was shot and killed before he could even draw his weapon. Frank Griffin bumped Jamie aside while drawing and killed the lone robber, but nothing that could be done for his uncle. Jamie had watched his Uncle Jimmy die. This event had led Jamie to a career in law enforcement, despite the objections of his mother.

Not for the first time, Jamie chided himself.
It wasn't your fault boyo.
Jamie had pestered his dad and uncle to stop at the convenience store on the way home for a snack.
It was just a random act of stupidity and violence
.

Jamie turned his focus back to his paperwork, and they were almost finished when their commander, Robert Sullivan, called to them. “Griffin, Cushing—in my office, please.”

As they entered his office, Cal said, “We were just finishing the paperwork, honest, Sully.”

Sully flashed his trademark wicked grin. “Ah. I'd forgotten that you still owe me paperwork from last night, Cushing. Thanks for reminding me. I called you in here because your names are next in the rotation, and we just got a report of a 10-84 at Cedar Grove Cemetery.”

“Cedar Grove? Hell, that's only a few blocks from my house. Who's on the scene?”

“Frank Thompson, first responding—Suzie Boyle, patrol supervisor.”

Jamie nodded. “Good folks. They've got the scene secured?”

“Just waiting for me to send out detectives, and you two are it. Get moving. You're now the investigators in charge. The rest of the paperwork for your other case can wait until you get back since I know you will finish it today before leaving.”

“Absolutely, Cap,” replied Jamie. “Wouldn't dream of leaving it another day.”

“Yeah, yeah. Call me once you've looked over the scene, and let me know if I need to call the homicide unit.”

“Will do, Sully,” replied Cal.

Grabbing their coats and gear, they walked to their car. “I feel like a damn yo-yo,” Cal muttered. “Down to Saint Brendan's, back to the district, and then back down to Cedar Grove.”

“Poor guy,” replied Jamie. “It's a rough life you have.”

“Fuck you, Griffin.”

“And the horse you rode in on, Cushing.”

They arrived at Cedar Grove Cemetery minutes later. As they drove along the north edge of the cemetery, they could see crime scene tape around trees at the north edge of the cemetery. Exiting the car, Jamie caught sight of Thompson and Boyle, standing outside the bright, yellow tape. Jamie felt dizzy again, but managed to catch himself before stumbling.
Jaysus, I really don't need to come down with the feckin' flu.

“Don't you two have anything better to do than jerk us away from very important paperwork?” Cal called out. Jamie caught up to Cal without anyone noticing his unsteadiness.

Suzie Boyle flipped Cal off and replied, “Yeah, but instead I've gotta babysit bozos like you.”

“Now, now, children,” chided Jamie. “Play nice or Daddy will have to separate you.” Cal and Suzie both flipped off Jamie. “I am truly offended by such vulgarity,” said Jamie, giving them both the “Vicky.” “Run it down for us, folks.”

Frank Thompson, as the first responding officer, spoke. “Dispatch notified me of a report of a 10-84 here in the cemetery. The witness, Scott Hammond, was still here when I arrived.” Thompson pointed to a heavyset man in a jogging suit standing to one side. “I found the body, confirmed death, immediately set up the police line, and had dispatch call Suzie. I then got Hammond's info and told him to stay until you guys got here. We had a few looky-loos, but nothing major. Here's the log.” Thompson handed Jamie the chronological log he was required to set up, noting names, titles, and ID numbers of all authorized personnel entering the scene.

“Very thorough,” Jamie commented.

“Thank you, sir.”

Suzie spoke up next. “I agree—by the time I got here, there really wasn't much for me to do. I had Dispatch contact the medical examiner and reviewed Frank's actions. Thompson had taken care of everything per regs.”

“Okay. Cal, you talk to the witness. Frank and Suzie, come with me and let's see what you found.”

Jamie raised the tape and made sure to maintain his balance as he entered the crime scene. Thompson and Boyle followed. In the midst of a dense patch of trees beside the cemetery road, Jamie could see a slender figure in a light blue jogging suit lying on the ground. Taking care to stand outside the area around the body, Jamie knelt down and got a closer look. “Caucasian female—I'd say what, about twenty-five?”

Suzie shook her head. “If you can determine that given the state of her body, you're a better man than I am, Griffin.”

“Well, obviously, I am a better
man
,” Jamie quipped. As Boyle uttered an expletive, Jamie looked closer at the woman's body. It was indeed difficult to be certain of the victim's age due to the condition of the body. It looked shriveled, like a raisin, as if all of the body's vital fluids had been sucked out of her body. “Damned if I've ever seen anything like this,” Jamie muttered.

“Same here,” agreed Thompson.

“Did you check for ID?” Jamie asked.

“Nope,” replied Boyle. “We were waiting for the big boys.”

“Good girl.”

“Call me girl, again, Griffin, and you'll be singing soprano at church for a month.”

While Jamie enjoyed the good-natured banter, he became serious as he took a pen from his pocket and peeked in the outer pockets of the woman's jogging suit. “Nothing. Hunh. Well, we'll wait for the M.E. to get here and let them see if there's any ID elsewhere on the body.”

Jamie stood and staggered backward. Frank Thompson caught hold of Jamie's arm and kept him from falling. “Hey there, old man, be careful.”

Cal came back then and said, “According to Hammond, he was jogging along the road here in the cemetery, and when he reached this part about an hour ago, he noticed they body lying in the undergrowth. Claims he doesn't know the woman, doesn't know anything about this.”

“You believe him? Does he look like someone who jogs regularly?” asked Jamie.

“Nah, but he doesn't seem like the type. I turned him loose, but we'll keep a line on Mister Hammond.”

“Okay, then. Thompson, Boyle—we're done with you here. Get us your reports, and be available if we have any questions.”