Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn Read online

  55

  The next morning, the police still couldn’t locate Kevin Teehan. I had a few ideas, first stopping off at the Home Depot and then continuing up Route 1 to Saugus and the Riverside Cemetery. I’d found an obit of Teehan’s mom on the Globe site. An old teacher of Teehan’s I’d spoken with told me he’d been prone to sit at her grave. She’d found it a little unsettling.

  I parked along a low stone wall on Winter Street for most of the day. I took a few breaks to check in with Susan, eat a chicken pie at Harrow’s, and to use the bathroom. I drank Gatorade and watched people come and go to the cemetery on a hot summer afternoon. A man running a Weed Eater and a push lawnmower worked around the headstones. He wore coveralls and protective earphones, and after what seemed liked hours, packed up his gear onto a trailer and drove away in a pickup truck.

  As he exited the cemetery, he passed Kevin Teehan in his vintage Crown Vic. Aha.

  I watched Teehan drive deep in the cemetery, park, and then get out with flowers in hand. He had a mattress and some furniture tied down in the trunk.

  I drove into the cemetery and parked next to him with my nose facing Winter Street. I got out, placed a GPS tracker under the open trunk, and walked toward him. He was kneeling at the grave but peered up as I got close.

  He got to his feet. He squinted and scowled at me simultaneously.

  I help up a hand.

  “Police have Ray Zucco,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything. He had on cargo shorts and flip-flops. If I hadn’t seen the furniture, I’d think he was going on vacation.

  “You headed to the Cape?” I said. “I was just there. Lovely time of year.”

  “I’m not going nowhere,” he said. “You can’t just follow me.”

  “Cops are looking for you.”

  “You’re not a cop,” he said. “Just try and stop me.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Kevin,” I said. “But I’d rather just talk.”

  “This is a special place,” he said. “Don’t fuck up my special place.”

  His pasty, pockmarked face flushed bright in the sun. I could not help but notice that there was a scorched piece of earth by the grave. Paging Norman Bates.

  “I don’t think your mom would like what you’ve been up to,” I said. “She supported the firefighters up here. Isn’t that right? She was dating one when she died.”

  “You don’t know shit about my mother,” he said.

  “I know she got sick and died when you were fifteen,” I said. “And I know you latched on to a real piece of work in Johnny Donovan when you dropped out of high school. Although you told me that you and Johnny never met.”

  “I don’t know him that good.”

  “Or that well,” I said. “Perhaps you should have continued with your studies. Did you know he was fired from his job at a school for stealing televisions and computers? And that he once slapped a young boy there? Tough guy. When the kid’s parents pressed charges, their house burned. The reason the Sparks wouldn’t allow him to join was because they found him mentally unstable.”

  “Johnny’s a good guy,” he said. “He taught me a lot about being a firefighter and a man. You don’t know shit. He’s the real deal. He’s a friend.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “Ray Zucco says he killed Rob Featherstone and set fire to Holy Innocents as payback for something that happened to him as a kid.”

  “Bullshit,” he said. “Ray never said Johnny burned that church. Because it didn’t happen.”

  “But you three burned other places,” I said. “You guys burned about eighty buildings this year. I’m only curious as to your reasons.”

  “Go screw yourself.”

  “You guys sent several firefighters to the hospital last week,” I said. “You knocked me and dozen or so people out of their homes on Marlborough Street. I don’t like to tie myself to possessions, but I’d rather not lose everything. Do you know how hard it is to find a black leather trench coat this day and age?”

  Teehan looked to me with mild curiosity. He dropped the flowers near the headstone. His mother’s name was Barbara Ann. She’d been only thirty-six when she died. He noticed me staring and turned his eyes on me. They were small, beady, and black.

  “What happened?” I said.

  Teehan lowered his head and scratched his neck. Now my hair was as short as his. I hoped the bald look looked better on me.

  “She got real sick,” he said. “Fast. Took about a year. It sucked.”

  The cemetery was as still and quiet as it should be. Few cars passed out on Winter Street. Birds zipped past us and crickets chirped along the stone wall and from behind headstones. Somewhere far off, a dog continued to howl. I wiped my sweating brow with the tips of my fingers. Patience was key.

  “Why’d you guys do it?”

  “We didn’t do nothing,” he said. “Ray is a fucking liar.”

  “They got you, Kevin,” I said. “Cops are looking for you. Nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide.”

  “So what,” he said. “What are you gonna do? Pull a gun on me and force me to leave with you.”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’m going to let you run. It’ll only make you look worse at your arraignment. They won’t be able to set bail high enough.”

  “You and the cops got nothing.”

  “Everyone is turning,” I said. “Johnny’s next.”

  “Johnny won’t turn,” he said. “Because he didn’t do nothing.”

  “Well,” I said. “Whatever happens, I think your hopes of working for Boston Fire aren’t looking so good.”

  “Whatever,” he said. “Screw ’em.”

  “Do some good,” I said. “You tell them how Johnny burned that church and killed three of their people. Stand up.”

  “And make Ma proud of me?” Teehan said. He grinned sarcastically when he said it.

  “Exactly.”

  He shook his head, spit on the ground, and brushed past my shoulder. He slammed his car door behind him and took off so fast out of the cemetery that a kitchen chair fell from the trunk and cracked onto the road. He left it there and sped off.

  I watched him go and turned on the tracking app on my telephone.

  Someday the human spirit will prevail over technology. But in the meantime, it made my job much easier.

  Kevin met Johnny down in the Seaport where the city had dumped a mountain of snow that winter. It was late June, but some of the black snow hadn’t melted. They parked their cars on the perimeter of the chain-link by a sign that warned people against dumping shit. But shit had mixed in with the black snow: parts of cars, traffic signs, old bicycles lay in useless heaps like a scrap yard. Kevin looked all around the wide open space and across the harbor and the big warehouses packed close by. Nobody had followed. Seagulls picked scraps out of the mess and flew away.

  He got out of the Crown Vic, still loaded down with clothes and his mom’s old furniture, and walked up to Johnny’s red Blazer with the fire department logo on the door. He tapped on the side window and Johnny opened up.

  He had on a baseball cap and sunglasses, listening to the news.

  “Where the fuck are you going?” Johnny said.

  “As far as I can until the money runs out.”

  “You run and they’ll find you,” he said. “There’s no way they know what we’ve been doing. Don’t get all squirrely.”

  “That guy Spenser found me,” Kevin said. “He knows you killed Featherstone and set the Holy Innocents fire.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “He says cops know it, too,” he said. “They’re looking for you.”

  “Ain’t it funny,” Johnny said. “I just got a call from Big Ray. He wants to meet and talk about things. I wonder how stupid these cops think I am? I said, ‘Sure, Big Ray, I’d be happy to meet anytime and anyplace.’ You know why? Because
they got nothing and I’m not saying jack shit. If they pull you in, kid, you keep your mouth shut. Ray’s a nut. He’s gotten in trouble with the cops before. Any halfwit attorney could tear him a new asshole. He’s a bad cop.”

  “Where’s he want to meet?”

  “Where else?” Johnny said. “The fucking pastry shop. But as soon as I get there, me and him are going for a ride and to have a serious talk. I’m going to give him a chance to stick with things, stick with our plan. Boston Fire should be kissing our ass for all we done for them. At the end of the year, the city will be cleaning up those disgraced firehouses, put those old engines out of service. This is a turning point for all of us. We can’t let Ray or some old man fuck it all up.”

  “Why’d you have to kill that fucking guy?”

  Johnny reached for a pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter on his dash. He lit one up and shook his head. “’Cause he wouldn’t shut up.”

  “What about the church?” Kevin said. “This was supposed to wake up the mayor’s office, not kill some firemen.”

  “Let me tell you something,” Johnny said. He pointed the glowing end of the cigarette at Kevin’s chest. “Ain’t no such thing as a bloodless revolution. If people get hurt, that’s because they need better training. Better equipment. When this is all over, I’m going to meet with Commissioner Foley and let him know my findings of the last four years. Somebody in that department needs some goddamn brains.”

  “Don’t hurt Ray,” Kevin said. “Okay?”

  “I’m not going hurt the moron,” Johnny said. “I’m going to give him a chance to go out on top. If they got something on him. Or you and me. This isn’t the way it all ends. All this stuff. The stupid Dumpsters and old buildings. It’s all been small. The church was something special. The church had meaning. You got to build something that everyone in Boston will see. Like a symbol for people to talk about.”

  “Somebody must’ve seen Ray in the South End while we lit up the detective’s building,” Kevin said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “Biggest goddamn fire you ever saw,” Johnny said. He jutted his chin toward a long row of brick warehouses against the harbor. “It’ll light up the whole harbor. It’s packed with nothing but boxes and wood, old pieces of furniture. I couldn’t have rigged it better myself. Probably don’t even need nothing more than a kitchen match.”

  “Ray would never talk about us,” Kevin said. “Ray’s stand-up.”

  “Five stories tall,” Johnny said. “Longer than two football fields.”

  “I’d just stay away from Ray,” Kevin said. “Don’t get near him. Don’t get near any cops.”

  “They’re gonna have to invent a new alarm for this one,” Johnny said. “Every fucking firefighter and their mother will be there.”

  “Why’d you start with the church?” Kevin said. “What was that all about?”

  “That’s where I got educated on how things work,” Johnny said. “This is a dirty, fucked-up world. Only way to change things is to write what you want in big capital letters.”

  56

  We kicked Ray Zucco loose last night,” Belson said. “He was wearing a wire and we were riding close.”

  “Terrific,” I said. “I think. What’d you find out?”

  I sat with Frank Belson and Captain Glass in their utilitarian offices at police headquarters. Homicide’s offices looked very much like a place where Time/Life operators might remain on standby for your important call.

  “Next to nothing,” Belson said. “He met Johnny Donovan at the Scandinavian Pastry shop in Southie. They sat there for three hours talking about how bad the Pats were going to be this year. According to Donovan, your man Heywood has lost a lot of speed and drive. He says he and Brady have gotten old and need to be traded. He also talked about Boston Fire being an underfunded crap heap. He says that nobody in this city does shit for fire while cops get their balls waxed.”

  I looked over to Captain Glass. “It’s true,” Glass said. “My nuts really shine.”

  “I like her,” I said.

  Belson shook his head. “He was on to us,” he said. “He was playing us and Zucco froze. Zucco lost his cool and started to ramble. He kept on asking questions about Holy Innocents and Featherstone and when Donovan would go off on the Pats or whatever, he’d try and nail him down. Even the guy who makes the donuts could tell he had on a wire.”

  “Did you pick up Donovan anyway?”

  “We were,” Belson said. “But Zucco got into Donovan’s car and took off like a bat outta hell. We kept up with them all the way to around Braintree and then we lost the son of a bitch.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What happened?”

  “It happens,” Glass said. “We found Donovan’s SUV parked at the T station. He must’ve switched cars. He was prepped.”

  I nodded. “Zucco’s dead.”

  “The thought had crossed our minds, Dick Tracy,” Belson said. “But we needed a hotshot like you to tell us the odds.”

  “I’ll bet you a dozen from the Scandinavian.”

  “Spenser, I wouldn’t bet a donut hole on Zucco’s chances,” Belson said. “Christ. Any luck with the kid?”

  “We had a heart-to-heart up in Saugus yesterday,” I said. “I told him Johnny Donovan was a psychopath and to step up and do the right thing before more firefighters got hurt.”

  “And how’d that work out for you?” Glass said.

  “Oh, he’s ready to fold,” I said. “He’s got good in him. I just know it.”

  “You realize he’s missing, too,” Glass said.

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Not necessarily?” Glass said. “If you have anything, you better step up right now yourself or I’ll never let you set foot back in this building unless you’re being processed.”

  “Such sweet talk,” I said. “How could I refuse?”

  Glass gritted her teeth. Cops flitted up and around the maze of cubicles. Phones rang. Computer keys were tapped. I had the sudden urge to purchase a complete set of The Old West, starting with the gunfighters.

  “The kid has some kind of hero-worship thing with Donovan,” I said. “He’s drained the Kool-Aid and licked the punch bowl clean.”

  “And where do we find him?” Glass said. She glowered at me. In the past, Quirk had simply simmered.

  I reached into my pocket and placed my cell phone on the table. “Keep your friends close,” I said. “And your borderline sociopaths closer. I’ve been tailing him all morning. He’s alone.”

  “So we wait until he connects with Donovan,” Glass said.

  I nodded. Belson stood up and reached for his rumpled blue blazer. Glass had leaned back in her chair, legs stretched out in front of her, nodding. “I guess you aren’t a total waste to know, Spenser.”

  “Gee, Captain Glass,” I said. “I kinda like you, too.”

  She picked up the phone and called Arson. Belson and I drove together to reconnect with Kevin Teehan.

  They met at midnight at an old warehouse in Charlestown. Johnny was already inside rigging the last few devices as Kevin sat on the hood of his Crown Vic, keeping watch and wondering what his life had become. Thirty minutes earlier, they’d busted the chain-link gate of the condemned toy factory on the Mystic River. Later, in the dark, moonless night, they’d touch off several spots on the second and third floors. To hear Johnny say it, everyone believed Zucco was to blame. And when it was all over, and fires started, no one would come after him or Kevin.

  Kevin still couldn’t believe Zucco had turned on them. All he knew is that he just wanted everything to be over and didn’t want to go to jail. He’d followed Johnny this far, and he’d follow it until things were done. After this maybe he’d leave Mass for a while, try to find some work at a fire station up in Maine somewhere. Get away from the city, live off the grid.

  “Come on,
” Johnny said, walking down from the loading platform. “It’s time.”

  The building was old, with busted-out windows and weeds growing through the asphalt. A big realty sign had been staked out in the front parking lot. Along the side of the building, big white letters painted on the brick read TOYS & GAMES.

  “Now they’ll know it’s Zucco,” Johnny said. “Let’s set this thing off right. I been scoping this place out for months. You’ll see it fucking burning all the way to China. It’s a statement that Boston Fire needs more men and better facilities. They may hate Mr. Firebug now, but he’ll be remembered as a hero in history. We done real good.”

  Kevin lowered his head and followed Johnny into the building. Johnny shone a flashlight up onto the wooden crossbeams overhead and the stacks and stacks of scrap wood and trash.

  The warehouse was dark and hot. Rain water dripped down from the floor above, pinging in puddles. He swallowed, as it was tough to breathe. In a far corner, he spotted what he thought was some kind of mannequin, false and artificial, propped up by a couple of old mattresses and a big stack of tires.

  He walked closer. Behind him, Johnny continued to arrange the tires and douse them all with the kerosene. Johnny whistled “Mr. Heat Miser” from the old kids’ Christmas special as he worked. Kevin remembered watching it every year with his mother. She loved it.

  “Why does it matter if we use La Bomba?” Kevin said. He walked forward to the big mess of tires.

  “’Cause it’s his fucking trademark,” he said. “The dumb bastard.”

  Johnny talking now like Mr. Firebug was someone different, a person separate from them doing all of this. As he got close to the pile ready to burn, Kevin stepped forward and looked down into the face of the mannequin—Ray Zucco. Zucco was gray and still, openmouthed and surprised, his head turned in a weird angle as if he were watching the tanker ships sliding by outside on the Mystic.

  “Holy shit,” Kevin said. “Holy shit. What’d you do, Johnny? What’d you do? Jesus. Jesus Christ.”