THE FOURTH WATCH (18 page)

I nodded sympathetically. "About what time did
you drop her off?" I asked.

He thought for a minute. "I think. it was after
midnight sometime, 12:30 or so."

"Okay," I said. Well I knew that Carolyn's
story checked out, but not much else. I was already aware of the
quality of her booty. I took a sip of my beer and ran things over
in my mind, trying to think. of something else to ask.

Lynch said: "Boy, it gets dark up there
though."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Wicked dark. They don't have lights going up
that drive or anything, and they're out there in the woods like
that. You can't see shit without your lights on."

I looked at him over the rim of my beer glass.
"Why wouldn't you have your lights on?"

"Well, I did, going up. But like I said, I
turned the engine off and tried to play with her a little. When I
did, I guess I turned my lights off too. After she bailed, I just
started the car up and drove away. Right in front of the house
there, it's all lit up, no problem. When I started the car up I
guess I forgot to put my lights on and I drove around and started
back down the driveway before I noticed it. Like I said, I had a
little buzz going. Anyway, if it hadn't been for the headlights of
that car coming in, I probably would have drove off into the
woods!"

I felt my heart stop for half of a beat. I put
my beer glass carefully down on its coaster and stared at him. I
must have had a look on my face because Lynch's smile drained
away.

"What?" He said.

"What car?"

"When I was coming out," he said. "A car was
coming up the drive."

"Did you pass it?" I asked him.

"No, it was headed off toward the barn or
whatever it is they got over there. I was just turning down the
drive, and when I saw the headlights, you know, it reminded me to
put mine on. I figured it was just somebody else coming home. I
only saw it for a second, then they were off behind the trees
before I even got my lights on."

"They?"

"Him. Whatever."

"Alright, Adam," I said, "here's what I want
you to do, I know its hard, but its important. I want you to
visualize that night for me. Close your eyes and try to visualize
it. The dark, the lights you saw, in front of those lights, was
there a glow or something in the trees. Could there have been two
cars?"

He did just as I told him. He had his eyes
shut, searching the back of his eyelids, his face pinching down
just a hair. Suddenly he opened them and looked at me.

"You know what? There could have been two," he
said.

11

WHEN I GOT HOME,
Jack's black Honda Accord was parked in my driveway. I
carried my briefcase and some files into the house, dumped them on
the dining room table and went out onto the deck. Jack was sitting
in a chair with his bare feet up on the rail. He was wearing a
green Nike bathing suit. A tangle of black hair covered his massive
chest. He rested a sweating bottle of Corona on his abdomen. There
was a wedge of lime floating in his beer. His black hair was wet
and raked back on his head. His blue eyes sparkled with
merriment.

"Well, good afternoon, Counselor! Grab a cold
one and join me."

"Be right with ya."

I went back into the house and up the stairs
and quickly changed into a pair of shorts and a golf shirt. I
pulled a Corona from the fridge, cut a wedge off the lime that was
sitting on a cutting board, twisted it down into the neck of the
bottle and went back out on the deck.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
1 said dropping down into the chair next to him. "Did I miss a Holy
Day of Obligation or something?"

He smiled at me, showing perfect teeth. "Just
thought I'd stop by for a swim and some dinner with my old pal. Got
a little steamy today, after the rain."

"Yeah, well we're gonna have to go to the store
if you want to eat. I've got a radish, a half jar of mustard and
seven cans of beer in the supply closet. Speakin' of which, where'd
the Corona's come from?"

"Fear not. I took the liberty of shopping for
you. We're having steaks and native corn, baked potato, a nice
romaine salad and a lovely California Merlot. The steaks are
marinating in a balsamic and garlic vinaigrette as we
speak."

"That's awful nice of you, Jack."

''Not at all," he said. " found two twenty's in
your vacation jar. I knew you wouldn't mind."

It was nice on the porch. Warm, but with a cool
breeze pushing in off the lake. We sat with our beers and watched
the small sailboats out in front of the Regatta, leaning with the
wind across the chop.

"You should take a dip, Kato, the water is
beautiful!" Jack said.

"Maybe later."

"So, what's going on with your case, by the
way? Was Red Whorley a victim of foul play?"

"Yes," I said, "I think he was."

The smile drained out of Jack's features and he
gathered me up in his eyes. "You're kidding."

"Starting to look that way. Let me hit the
head," I told him, pushing myself up out of the chair, "and get us
a couple more beers. Then I'll tell you what's been going on, and
you can tell me what you think."

While I was washing my hands I heard the phone
ring. When I came out of the bathroom Jack was smiling and holding
the phone up to his ear. He held a finger up in front of his lips.
After a moment he said, "Walter, this is Jack."

Suddenly, I could hear pathetic groveling
coming from the other end of the line. Jack said that Walter should
try not to be obscene because God was always listening to him. More
groveling and Jack rolled his eyes at me.

Walter had grown up with Jack and I, not at St.
John's, but around the streets near it. Walter was one of those
kids that were always victims of the neighborhood bullies. He was
small and fat, and frankly, weird. But he was never victimized by
anyone in Jack Healy's presence. Jack, even then, could not bear
the cruelty that humans were capable of inflicting on one another.
He just wouldn't stand for it. As a result he was a neighborhood
hero to those who, without him, would have suffered the indignity
of public humiliation as a way of life. Walter looked up to Jack as
much now as he had then. He remembered when Jack would pull the
bully's off of him, and announce to them that Walter was his
friend, and that if he ever caught them hurting him, he'd come
looking for them. No one wanted Jack looking for him. I think Jack
was the only person in the world that Walter respected.

When Jack became a Priest, and invited Walter
to his Ordination, Walter was so humbled that he cried. He bought
the most expensive suit that he could find. He told everyone he
knew that he had been invited. He put an enormous ad in the paper
congratulating Jack, and he threw an extravagant post Ordination
dinner for him at a fancy downtown restaurant. Jack had shown
Walter respect and friendship by inviting him, and he never forgot
it. To this day Walter speaks to Jack politely and with great
humility, something he does for no other person on earth. He will
address Jack only as 'Father', and if Jack asked Walter to, he
would cut off his own arm for him.

"I know you'll try, Walter," Jack was
saying.

He listened some more and then said again, "I
know that, Walter."

More banter from the other end of the line, and
then he said: "Alright, its okay, hold on a minute."

I took the phone from Jack, giving him a look
that asked whether that was really

necessary and said, "Hello?"

"Kato?" Walter asked, warily.

"Hey, Walter," I said.

"Is that really you?"

"Of course it's really me."

"Who played for both the Blue Jays and the
Celtics?"

"Danny Ainge," I answered laughing. "What, you
don't think Jack is gonna know that?"

I was subjected to a round of filthy invective.
Jack had not made as much progress with Walter as he had hoped.
When I had had enough I said, "Why are you calling me?"

Jack had fired up the grill and popped us two
more Coronas while I was on the horn. He was laying the steaks
carefully on as I listened to Walter whine. I held my beer up to
him in mock salutation as he worked on the other side of the
window. He held his up in response and shook his head.

It turned out that Walter had a lot to
say.

Lieutenant. Scott Madigan's account of his
interview with the gardener, Fernando Herrera, checked out. Morris
Rosen confirmed that Madigan's account was a fair representation of
what Herrera had said. That, however, was about all that Walter had
to say that was positive about Scott Madigan.

"I missed it first time around, but there was
this piece about Whorley's death in the Lowell Times that talked
about the "legendary" Worcester Police Lieutenant that, found the
body. In between the lines the reporter, ah, lets see ... Roger
Wildoff...wonders how anyone could put any faith in an
investigation run by Madigan."

"Oops. How's Wildoff know Madigan?" I
asked.

"Good question. I called and asked him. Turns
out that Madigan was on the Lowell force for nine years before
getting his job in Worcester. Had a reputation as a skull cracker,
particularly among the minorities. Liked to throw Papa down the
stairs in handcuffs with Mama and the kids watching, that kind of
thing. Wildoff says the brass looked the other way because Madigan
closed a lot of cases.”

"So Madigan is rough with the clientele, he's
an asshole. Not exactly a stop the presses that the cops have some
assholes on the payroll."

''True, but this Wildoff says that Madigan had
a reputation with the defense lawyers up there as a scumbag. They
think he was planting evidence and framing guys that wouldn't
snitch for him, liked to make the evidence fit his version of
events, and shit like that. They say he's just a bad
motherfucker."

I thought about that. Madigan first on the
scene. Madigan deciding that he had an accidental drowning. Madigan
helping the coroner's office with their findings. Madigan ignoring
the backwards shorts and the algae.

"Wildoff made a part time career of shadowing
Madigan," Walter said. "Felt that if he could keep the heat on, he
could minimize the damage. He tells me that the reason Madigan
eventually got out of town had to do with a spic getting croaked
during an arrest that Madigan and his partner made. The spic was
supposedly looking in windows around the neighborhood or something.
Somebody calls the cops and our boy shows up. It turns out that the
guy is a fuckin' retard. Wanders around all day sayin' hello to
everybody and being all kinds of friendly and helpful and like
that. Thirty something years old, lives at home with his mother.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew the guy, except the lady that
called the cops, because she just moved in. Kid was probably
stopping by to say hello or something. 'Hi, I'm from the retard
welcome wagon.' Or maybe he saw her tryin' to jump-start her
vibrator through the window and stopped to watch. Anyway, she spots
him, screams, and he bolts. She calls the cops. Of course everyone
knows the guy, so when the cops start askin' around, it don't take
them long to figure out that it's this guy Luis, the neighborhood
odd-ball.

"The guy's mother, his sister and her kids all
saw the thing go down. They gave statements to the effect that Luis
was scared when the police came to talk to him, and tried to run
back into his bedroom. Probably wanted to get his stuffed bear or
something. Madigan jumped the guy, which started the guy screaming
and twisting around, so Madigan starts tenderizing him with his
night stick. Next thing you know the kid has a fit! He starts
hyperventilating and throwing up, choking, gagging .. .like that.
Madigan has got the guy in handcuffs and is kneeling on his back,
holding his head down in his puke. The guy dies in the back seat of
the cruiser on the way to lock up.

"The cops rallied around their boys at first.
Wildoff says that routine did not sell with John Q. Public, and
that he made it his business to fan the fire. The good citizens of
Lowell wanted to know how a retarded wetback, with no previous
record by the way, gets smothered to death by the police. The
family hired one of those black preacher-lawyers, who filed a civil
rights suit and howled from the courthouse stairs every chance he
got. Wildoff gave him a lot of chances. The City kept its head up
and stuck its chest out at first, but when the story stayed on page
one, the politicians caved. They made a settlement with the
preacher, who wanted Madigan's head as part of the deal. A year
later Madigan is a Lieutenant here in Worcester."

We were quiet for a minute on the phone. I
said: "Nice work, Walter."

It was my turn. I summarized my day for him. He
listened carefully, and whistled for emphasis when I told him about
Lynch seeing a car, maybe two, on the Whorley drive that night. We
agreed that Lynch had probably seen the killer, or killers, on
their way to dump Red in his pool.

"Two cars," Walter said. "Somebody had to drive
the victims car home."