Innocence (19 page)
He’d used the morning as efficiently as he could, contacting Billy Smith, a fingerprint expert in the D.C. area whom he’d worked with on another case involving an unfortunate paternity dispute. Smith was former FBI, and recognized as one of the leading experts in fingerprint work, so he had the added bonus of being unimpeachable. If Billy gave them a good report, they’d be home free. Finn had other experts he could go to if they needed to fudge the analysis, but he wanted at least to start with the best.
He was turning the case over in his head, trying to figure out what else he could accomplish on his own, when the door banged open and Lissa hurried in. “Fuck,” she said as her momentum carried her to the coat rack and she hung up her winter gear.
“Good morning to you, too,” Finn grumbled, looking at his watch. “Yep, still morning. Barely.”
“I know. I said ‘fuck.’”
“Is that some sort of euphemism for ‘I’m sorry’?”
She thought about it. “Pretty much, yeah.”
The door slammed open again, and Kozlowski walked in. “Morning.” He nodded at Finn.
“Don’t you mean ‘fuck’?”
“What?” Kozlowski looked confused. He looked back and forth between Finn and Lissa. “Problem?”
Lissa shrugged.
“Are you two serious? We’ve got a dead lawyer and an innocent client rotting in jail with a week for us to figure out how we’re going to get him out, and you want to know if there’s a problem with both of you showing up at nine thirty?”
“He’s innocent now?” Lissa asked.
“He’s a client now. That makes him innocent,” Finn said.
“He was a client last week, too,” Kozlowski pointed out.
“He was only technically a client last week. Dobson was representing him then. Now he’s all ours, and he’s innocent. Get used to it.”
Kozlowski held his hands up. “No argument here. So what do you want us to do about it?”
“You and I need to talk to Madeline Steele,” Finn replied. “I want to see how sure she is about her ID of Salazar fifteen years later. I figure you know her, so she’ll be more willing to talk to me if you’re there.”
Kozlowski leaned against the wall where Charlie O’Malley had punched through the plaster. He looked at his feet. “It’s possible,” he said. “But remember, I haven’t talked to her in years. I don’t know that I’ll get you much more mileage.”
“Yeah, but you were friends, right?”
“‘Were’ being the operative word. Like I said, it’s been years.”
“And you were
just
friends, right?” Finn pushed.
“Right,” Kozlowski replied without hesitation. Finn saw Lissa flinch, but he thought nothing of it.
“So at least you know her. And you were a cop. That gives you a hell of a lot more credibility than I have. If she gets a call from Salazar’s lawyer out of the blue, I won’t get through the door. You can at least set up the meeting, maybe smooth things over when we’re there. Don’t even tell her what it’s about; just tell her you need to talk to her.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Kozlowski said.
Finn challenged him. “Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got. If you have something better, by all means, I’m listening.”
Kozlowski was silent.
“Okay, then. Set it up for this morning.”
“What can I do?” Lissa asked.
“Call Dobson’s secretary again and get copies of all his files sent over today. Immediately. It may take a little finessing; she’s probably pretty freaked out. But you’ve got to make her understand that we’re on the clock with this, so we need whatever she’s got as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll try,” Lissa replied. “You’re probably right—she’s probably pretty fucked up—so it may not be that easy. Shit, how often is a lawyer murdered at a place like Howery, Black?”
“More often than you might think,” Kozlowski deadpanned.
She looked at him, then turned back to Finn. “That’s right, a woman was killed a couple years ago, right? I’d forgotten. That must’ve been when you were there.”
Finn nodded.
“Did you know her?”
Finn nodded again.
“Well aren’t you the fuckin’ lucky charm?”
“Thanks, that’s helpful.”
“Sorry.”
“I also need you to coordinate with our fingerprint expert,” Finn continued.
“Right. Koz and I talked about that a little last night. I’ve got a list of candidates we could use.”
Finn shook his head. “No need. That’s what I was doing during my solitude this morning. I’ve got Billy Smith from D.C. lined up.”
“He’s good,” Kozlowski commented. “On the top of my list.”
“Glad you approve,” Finn said. He turned back to Lissa. “As soon as we get the files, make sure the fingerprint records get down to him.”
“Will do, boss.”
“Good.”
“Everything else all right?” Kozlowski asked.
“Fine. We’ve got a week to prove this guy’s innocent and figure out who killed Mark Dobson. What could possibly be wrong?”
z
Kozlowski sat in his back office, staring at the phone. He’d dreaded this moment, and now it was here.
He picked up the receiver and dialed the number in front of him. She answered on the second ring.
“Victims’ Services. Can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Madeline Steele,” he said. He knew it was her on the line already, but he wanted to make sure. Or maybe he was just
stalling.
“This is Sergeant Steele.”
“Maddy, it’s Koz.” He could feel the phone line ice over. “How are you?”
“Koz,” she said. She sounded stunned.
“How are you?” he repeated.
“Compared to what? Compared to when? Compared to yesterday? Compared to last year? Compared to fifteen years ago, the last time you bothered to ask?”
“I’m sorry, Maddy.”
“Bullshit.” She went quiet, and Kozlowski had no idea what to say. “What do you want?” she asked at last.
“I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“In person.”
“About what?”
“I’d rather not do this over the phone,” he said. “Do you have any time this morning? We could come in.”
“
We
?”
“A guy I work with. A lawyer.”
“That’s right, you’re in private practice now. Private dick.” Kozlowski could tell that the pun was intentional. “Injured in the line of duty, right?”
“Shot in the knee. I’m fine.”
“Must be. At least you’re still walking. Count your blessings.” He didn’t take the bait. “What does this lawyer want to talk about?”
“Like I said, I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Can we come in this morning?”
“Just like that, huh? A decade and a half without a word. A decade and a half of the silent treatment, and you just call up and want to walk into my office to chat?”
“It’s important, Maddy.”
“I needed you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s important.”
He waited as she thought about it. “Eleven thirty,” she said after a moment. Then she hung up.
Kozlowski held the receiver out from his face, looking at it. Then he set it down on the cradle and took a deep breath. The call had actually gone better than he’d expected. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d hung up at the beginning of the conversation. It was, he supposed, a good sign. It would get worse, though. In person, it would get much worse when the shock wore off. And when she learned what they wanted to discuss . . . “worse” didn’t begin to describe how it would get.
z
Finn had one call to make before they went to talk to Madeline Steele. Tony Horowitz was the head technician at Identech, the DNA testing lab where Dobson had sent the scrapings from under Steele’s fingernails. Finn had worked with Horowitz on other cases and figured it was worth checking in. He had to go through two secretaries and wait on hold for several minutes before he got the man on the line.
“Tony, it’s Scott Finn here.”
“Finn. Good to hear from you. How’s business?”
“Pretty good these days, actually.”
“That’s good to hear. Things busy enough that you have some more stuff for us to do here? You know we can always use the work, and we’d be happy to lend a hand on anything you’ve got.”
“That’s why I’m calling. You’re already working on one of my cases— you just may not know it.”
“Really? Which one?”
“It’s a criminal matter for a client named Salazar. The lawyer who gave it to you was named Mark Dobson. Fifteen-year-old DNA samples. Sounding familiar?”
Finn could hear the man suck in air. “Shit, you’re working on that now? I had no idea. Shit.”
“Problem?” Finn asked.
“Just that we took that case out of the queue yesterday. I was having the samples bagged back up.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t you hear? Dobson was killed this weekend. Without him around, I had no idea how we were going to get paid. We don’t work for free here, y’know.”
“I understand,” Finn said. “But do me a favor and put it back online, okay? I’ll take care of the payment.”
“If you say so, but we’ve lost some time, and now I’ve got some projects that have taken priority. I’ll see what I can do, though.”
“Tony, do more than that, okay? This guy’s innocent. I know it, and I’ve got a hearing in a week, so I need the results by the end of next weekend.”
“That’s not going to be easy, Finn.”
“I know it. But I’m asking you to do it. When I tell you this guy is innocent, I mean he is innocent. I really need your help on this.”
Finn heard the sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ll have to work it up myself,” Horowitz said. “It’s gonna involve working next weekend, and that’s gonna run into overtime. Are you prepared for that?”
“As long as I get the results by Sunday,” Finn said.
“Fine,” Horowitz replied. “But you’re gonna owe me for this.”
Chapter Twent
y
Finn and Kozlowski arrived for their meeting with Madeline Steele at Police Headquarters fifteen minutes early and were asked to wait in the lobby. Finn felt as though every cop who passed him could read his suspicions. It was his imagination; it had to be. No one knew why he was there, and Finn hadn’t shared his thoughts about possible police misconduct even with Kozlowski. After all, Koz was a cop, too. As much as he bitched about the way the department had treated him, Finn had heard him say dozens of times, “Once a cop, always a cop.”
Finn was wrestling with whether to tell Koz about his theories when he heard a woman’s voice behind him.
“Koz. It’s been a long time.” Finn detected a hint of anger. He turned and looked at Madeline Steele and was surprised at what he saw. He was expecting a beaten shadow of a woman. Instead, he beheld a formidable woman with eyes that matched her last name. She sat tall in a short-backed wheelchair, the wheels of which were angled in at the top to provide a wider base and greater stability. It was the kind of wheelchair Finn associated with serious para-athletes, and it fit her appearance perfectly. She was in her mid-thirties, with a long, thin torso and broad-cut shoulders. She wore a sheer silk blouse that clung to her arms, showing off taut, sculpted muscles. Her long brown hair was neatly combed but
not styled, and she wore no makeup at all that Finn could tell.
“Maddy. It’s good to see you,” Kozlowski said. “You look good.”
“Thanks. You look old.”
“I guess looks don’t lie.”
She didn’t reply.
“This is Scott Finn.” Kozlowski waved his hand at Finn. “He’s the lawyer I work with. The one I told you about.”
Finn stepped forward and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
She looked at his hand suspiciously. “Likewise.” She reached out and shook his hand, squeezing hard enough to make Finn wince. She looked back at Kozlowski. “Fifteen years. This must be pretty important. What do you want to talk about?”
“Is there someplace we could talk privately?” Kozlowski asked.
“Sure.” She spun her chair and was off at a sprinter’s pace across the lobby and toward a long hallway on the first floor. The two men had to move into a near-jog just to keep up.
“You’re pretty fast in that thing,” Finn said, trying to break the ice. As it came out, he knew it sounded wrong.
She looked back over her shoulder at him, then said to Kozlowski, “Where’d you get this guy?”
Kozlowski didn’t answer.
She slid around a corner, almost steamrolling a young officer who scurried out of the way without a word, as though it was a common occurrence. After another fifteen yards, Steele skidded to a stop in front of a door marked victims’ services coordinator. To the side of the door was a silver nameplate. sergeant madeline steele. “This is it,” she said, pushing open the door and heading in.
Finn was impressed. Municipal offices were not generally noted for their size or their decor, but entering Steele’s office from the hallway felt like slipping into the inner sanctum of a trusted family doctor. A large Oriental rug covered the floor, and a midsize polished wood desk stood in the center of the room. Two comfortable chairs stood in front of the desk, and a couch was pushed against the far wall. There was no chair behind the desk, which confused Finn until she wheeled herself around to the other side and he realized that she didn’t need one.
“Nice office,” Kozlowski commented.
“Yeah. Thanks. What do you want?”
“I mean it,” Kozlowski said. “It’s very nice.”
She leaned forward on the desk. “Fine. You want to talk about the office? It was specially designed for me. It’s so big because I need the space to move around. They had to knock down a wall between two offices to create a space this big. Hell, for that matter, they created this entire position for me. Victims’ Services used to be farmed out to private companies. But they needed a place to put me when I wouldn’t go away. It was kind of a big thank-you for getting myself shot. Don’t get me wrong, I make the most of it for myself and the department. I understand a little about what most victims are going through, and I can talk to them. I can get them to talk to me. We’ve made dozens of busts based on what I’ve gotten people to confide in me about—busts that never would have been made without me. So, yeah, it’s a nice big office, but I earn my keep. We done with the bullshit now?”
“I wasn’t suggesting—” Koz started.
“I know you weren’t. What do you want?”
Kozlowski turned to Finn. “It’s your show.”
Finn sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Kozlowski remained standing, looking ready to move quickly out the door. “This may be a little awkward,” Finn began. He cleared his throat. “I represent Vincente Salazar.”
A look of total shock and revulsion spread over Steele’s face, and Finn could tell the meeting was not going to go well. But she seemed too stunned to interrupt him, so he figured he might as well push his way through it.
“We think he might not be responsible for what happened to you. DNA tests are being run now, and we believe those tests are going to prove Mr. Salazar was not the man who attacked you.” He let that sink in.
The appalled look still hung on her face, but Finn had to give her credit for keeping her composure. She was impressive. “And?” she asked.
“And because of how old the DNA samples are, and because they could have degraded or been contaminated, even if the tests come back and show it wasn’t Mr. Salazar, the judge still may not let him go free unless we can offer some explanation for the other evidence in the case. Like your testimony. So I wanted to ask you how sure you were about your identification of Mr. Salazar.”
“My ID?”
“Yes. Can you tell me exactly what you remember?”
“You’re kidding, right?” She looked at Kozlowski. “He’s kidding, right?”
Finn shifted in his seat. “I’m not. An innocent man may be rotting in jail. I’d like you to think back as clearly as you can. Are you positive Vincente Salazar was the man who attacked you? Is there any chance you could have been mistaken?”
She looked as though she hadn’t heard Finn. She was still staring at Kozlowski. His eyes met hers evenly. “You’re behind this, aren’t you. You motherfucker.”
“No.”
“Bullshit. It’s not enough that you— Now you walk back into my life fifteen years later and throw this shit in my face? You asshole. You absolute sadomasochistic asshole.”
“It’s important,” Kozlowski replied. “I told you.”
“His fingerprints were on the gun!”
“Ms. Steele, I’m not asking about the fingerprints,” Finn said. “I’m asking about what you remember.”
She turned to look back at Finn. “You want to know what I remember, you slimy son of a bitch? I remember your client attacking me. I remember him trying to rape me. I remember him shooting me. I remember lying in the gutter, waiting to die. But you know what I remember most? Do you? Mostly, I remember what it was like to walk. I remember what it was like having legs instead of this fucking chair. I remember what it was like being able to take a crap without hauling myself onto the toilet with my arms and shoulders. I remember all that very well. Do you understand that?”
“I do,” Finn said. “But—”
She cut him off. “No. No buts. No fucking buts. I’ve told you what I remember. Now I want you to remember something.” She practically spat in his face. “I want you to remember that if you ever come near me again, I swear to God I will put you in a chair just like this one for the rest of your fucking life. Then we’ll talk about what it is that both of us really remember. Now get the fuck out of my office.” She looked at Kozlowski. “Both of you.”
z
“That could have gone better,” Finn said as he pulled out of the police parking lot at Schroeder Plaza.
“I warned you,” Kozlowski said. “What did you expect? We’re asking for her help in freeing the man who shot her and put her in that chair for the rest of her life.”
“Except that he didn’t do it.”
“Fine. Let’s assume that’s right. It still doesn’t change the fact that she believes he did. Did you really expect her to pour some nuts in a fucking bowl, make us some tea, and ask us to sit down for a goddamned heart-to-heart?”
“No. But I also didn’t expect her to have so much animosity toward you even before we told her why we were there. I thought you were friends, but no, we start with two strikes against us.”
“I told you. We
were
friends. We hadn’t talked in years.”
“Fine. But there are lots of people I haven’t talked to in years who I was friends with, and I wouldn’t expect them to rip my throat out if I got in touch with them. I mean, hell, you were more of a liability in there than anything else. What the fuck happened between the two of you?”
Kozlowski stared out the car window. “She went through a rough time after she was shot. I wasn’t there for her the way I should have been.”
“I thought you were just friends.”
“We were just friends. I wasn’t there for her as a friend.” Kozlowski sighed. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were more than friends, but not in the way you mean. There was never any funny business between us, but I was her mentor. I was the one she came to with problems. I knew her father and her brothers; they were cops, too. She had it tough, trying to live up to them. I was the person she talked to most. The person she trusted most. Maybe that did make us more than friends.”
Finn looked over at Kozlowski. “So, if you were that close, why weren’t you there for her when she got shot?”
The large man shifted uncomfortably in the tiny car, and the cuff of his jacket sleeve caught on the door handle. “Fuck,” he said as he tried to free himself. “Motherfucker.” He swung his arm hard, and the handle popped off the door and landed in his lap. He looked at it, held it up to examine it, then handed it to Finn. “You may need this later.”
“Jesus Christ, Koz,” Finn yelled. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”
“It’s your car, asshole. Maybe if you drove something big enough for a normal-sized person to sit in, shit like this wouldn’t happen.” Kozlowski watched as Finn guided the little car around the remnants of the Big Dig and into the Callahan Tunnel, heading toward Logan Airport. “Where are we going?”
“East Boston.”
“No shit. Why?”
“While you were AWOL this morning, I did some checking around. Salazar’s brother, Miguel, spends his afternoons twice a week at a free clinic over here. I want to talk to him.”
“Free clinic?” Kozlowski scoffed. “I thought he was some big-shot doctor.”
“He is,” Finn said. “He’s a surgeon at Mass General. Probably one of the top positions in the country.”
“So what the fuck is he doing wasting his time in a free clinic?”
“How should I know? What does it matter? You have other plans for the day?”
“No.”
“Good.” Finn put the door handle on the dashboard. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened between you and Steele? Why you weren’t there for her ‘as a friend’ when she got shot?”
Kozlowski continued staring out the window as they emerged from the tunnel and East Boston rolled past them. “No,” he said. “That’s between me and her.”
His tone made it clear to Finn that the discussion was over from Kozlowski’s point of view. “Fine. Perfect. You’ll tell me if there’s anything else important that you intend to keep to yourself, right?”
Kozlowski turned his head to look at Finn. There was anger in his expression, but Finn didn’t care. He had enough of his own to compete. “I’ll let you know,” Kozlowski said.
Chapter Twenty-on
e
The free clinic was located on the flat of East Boston, near the airport, in one of the poorest sections of town. It made sense, Finn supposed, but it was hard to figure why someone doing as well as Miguel Salazar would choose to spend any significant amount of time in the area. It appeared that he shared at least some of his brother’s genuine dedication to his profession.
Finn pulled his car up alongside a nondescript, dingy clapboard building that matched the address he’d been given. The street was deserted, and there was nothing to identify the structure as a medical facility.
“You sure this is the right place?” Kozlowski asked.
“I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Finn replied, opening his door and climbing out. He was at the door to the building before he realized that Kozlowski wasn’t with him. He looked back at the car and saw Koz sitting there, staring back at Finn. Finn walked back to the car. “You joining me?” he asked through the window.
Kozlowski glared at him. “I can’t get out.”
It took a moment for Finn to clue in: There was no handle on the door anymore. He opened the door from the outside. “Serves you right,” he said. “Maybe I should just leave you here. You haven’t pissed
off anyone in here that I don’t know about, have you?”
“Not yet,” Kozlowski grumbled.
They walked over to the door; it was little more than a sheet of plywood on hinges, covered with chipped white paint. There was no sign of life. Finn looked at Kozlowski and shrugged, then pulled the door open.
It was like stepping from the surface of the moon to the streets of Calcutta. As soon as the door opened, a profusion of parents talking, children screaming, and people coughing and moaning assaulted them. All eyes turned to the door, and a protest went up at the blast of cold air that flooded the room.
They walked in, careful not to step on the fingers or toes of the small children who littered the grubby floor, playing or lying down in exhaustion. There had to be more than fifty people crammed into the tiny room. From the Spanish that was being spoken and the light brown complexions of those gathered, Finn guessed that most there were from South or Central America. He saw a few Asian faces as well, and thought he heard a smattering of Italian and Russian being whispered in the corners. Most of the adults in the room glanced nervously at Finn and Kozlowski.
A door at the far end of the room opened, and a young woman in a white doctor’s coat poked her head out. “Martinez!” she called. Then, after a pause, again: “Martinez!”
Finn saw a woman sitting against the wall get to her feet, then stoop to gather up two small children. She headed toward the far door and gave a shy “
Hola
” to the woman standing there.
“
Hola
,” the woman replied with a smile that betrayed exactly how tired she was. She let the woman pass through the door before she looked around the room. Finn could almost see her mind calculating the length of the rest of her day based on how full the room was.
Then her eyes came to rest on Finn and Kozlowski, and her expression changed instantly from fatigue to anger.
“No!” she yelled, stepping over patients as she came toward them. “No!” she yelled again. “We paid! We put that check in the mail last week! We’ll get a restraining order if it’s really necessary; this kind of intimidation is despicable! Out! Out right now!”
“Sorry?” Finn said defensively.
“You will be if you don’t leave,” the woman confirmed. She was short and stocky, and judging from the way she was moving, Finn suspected that she knew how to handle herself in the event of a physical confrontation. “Out! Now!”
“We’re looking for Miguel Salazar,” Finn said. “Is he here?”
The woman stopped in her advance, clearly caught off guard. “Are you from the landlord?” she asked.
“No,” Finn replied. He looked at Kozlowski. “You from the landlord?”
“Not last time I checked.”
“We’re not from the landlord,” Finn concluded, addressing the woman again.
“We’ve been having trouble with the landlord,” the woman said. “He’s an asshole, and he’s looking to evict us. He thinks he can make more than we’re paying.”
“Right,” Finn said. “Sounds like a bastard. We’re not with him.”
She looked relieved, but some suspicion still hung in her expression. “What do you want to see Miguel about?”
“I’m his brother’s lawyer,” Finn said. “This is one of my colleagues, Tom Kozlowski. We’re here to talk to him about his brother’s case.”
A smile dawned on her face. “Vincente? You’re Vincente’s lawyer?”
Finn was confused. “You know Vincente?”
She shook her head. “No. Although I sometimes feel like I do. Miguel talks so much about him, I feel like there isn’t much I don’t know about the man. He’s an inspiration, and he’s largely responsible for all this.” She waved her hand around the grimy waiting room. Finn looked at the dense glass and chicken-wire windows set too high and plaster hanging off the walls and wondered whether she was trying to be ironic. He thought not.
“Is Miguel here?” Finn asked again.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course. I’m sorry to be rude. I’m Dr. Jandreau, but you can call me Jill. He’s in with a patient, but he’ll be done in a few minutes, and I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you. We’re all keeping our fingers crossed for his brother. It must be awful to be trapped in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.”
“But you don’t know Vincente, I thought,” Finn said.
“No, that’s right. But I know Miguel. That’s enough.” She nodded, as though that explained it all. “One of our doctors called in sick this morning, so there’s an empty examination room in the back. You can wait for him there, and he’ll be with you once he’s done with his patient.”
z
Mac sat at his desk at headquarters at One Schroeder Plaza, sweating in spite of the fact that the building was ten degrees below comfortable. He felt like everything was coming apart, and that made him physically ill. Early that morning he’d been unable to choke down any breakfast, and when he’d tried to drink some coffee, the resulting wave of nausea had him doubled over.
