I take the case, and then the DNA evidence comes back as a match, we can drop the guy right then and there. That way, we can feel pretty good that we know the cops got the right guy on this—everybody’s a winner.” Finn wondered whether it was obvious to Kozlowski how badly he wanted to take the case.
Kozlowski flipped up the collar on his raincoat. It was an old, shapeless khaki rag that was great for Columbo impersonations but useless against the New England winter. Finn had gotten Kozlowski a new coat for Christmas the year before—a nice wool/cashmere blend in char-coal—but it had never been out of the detective’s front hall closet. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he arrived at the passenger side of Finn’s car.
Finn unlocked the driver’s side and then paused, looking at Kozlowski drawn up tight against a mean winter breeze. “I’m not taking the case,”
Finn said. “It’s pretty clear that this is bothering you. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but it’s not worth it to me. Besides, I’d need your help on it, and if your heart isn’t in it, it isn’t fair to Salazar. Better that he have people behind him who are invested.”
“Take the case,” Kozlowski said.
Finn was silent for a moment. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Open the friggin’ door, it’s cold.”
“Why?”
“I told you, it’s friggin’ cold.”
“No. Why do you want me to take the case?”
Kozlowski shook his head. “I’m not buyin’ this guy the way you are. Yeah, he seems okay now, but even if he didn’t shoot Maddy, he’s been in for fifteen years, and nobody spends that kind of time in a place like this and keeps his shit the way Salazar claims to have. He’s conning us, no matter what, at some level.”
“But . . . ?”
“But I was friends with Maddy Steele. I may not be convinced that Salazar is innocent, but I’m not convinced that he’s guilty, either. And if Salazar didn’t shoot Maddy, then the asshole who did is still out walkin’ the streets. That doesn’t sit well with me, and it won’t until I get some answers.” He punctuated his point with his eyes, daring Finn to ask any further questions. “Now open this fucking door before I peel off this ratty piece-of-shit cloth you call a roof and open it myself.”
Finn slipped into the driver’s seat and reached over to unlock Kozlowski’s door, pulling on the handle to open it. Kozlowski grunted loudly as he folded his bulk into the low, narrow passenger seat. “You know,” Finn said as he turned the key and the engine sputtered to life, “you’re really very strange.”
“No,” Kozlowski replied, “mainly, I’m really very cold.”
z
Finn and Kozlowski stopped for lunch on the way back to the office: bangers and mash for Kozlowski and a Reuben for Finn at a local pub in Charlestown. The food was great, but the service left something to be desired, and it was nearly two o’clock by the time they pushed open the door to the old building that housed their offices. Finn had put a down payment on the brownstone with the generous severance he’d taken from the partners at Howery; Kozlowski paid a nominal rent for the use of two rooms in the back.
“Jesus fucking Christ, where have you been?” Lissa Krantz accosted them as they walked through the door. Finn was still adjusting to the way she littered her language with creative obscenities. It wasn’t unusual for the older legal practitioners to season every sentence with a pungent curse or two, but it shocked Finn, coming from Lissa. She was a petite thirty-two-year-old law student at Northeastern, with a lithe body toned from endless hours on treadmills and StairMasters, dark hair and olive skin carefully maintained through regular trips to high-end Newbury Street salons, and shoes and clothes that he was sure cost more than his car. She’d been interning with Finn for eight months, and her legal and organizational effort had been astounding, so Finn was beginning to get
Kozlowski flipped up the collar on his raincoat. It was an old, shapeless khaki rag that was great for Columbo impersonations but useless against the New England winter. Finn had gotten Kozlowski a new coat for Christmas the year before—a nice wool/cashmere blend in char-coal—but it had never been out of the detective’s front hall closet. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he arrived at the passenger side of Finn’s car.
Finn unlocked the driver’s side and then paused, looking at Kozlowski drawn up tight against a mean winter breeze. “I’m not taking the case,”
Finn said. “It’s pretty clear that this is bothering you. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but it’s not worth it to me. Besides, I’d need your help on it, and if your heart isn’t in it, it isn’t fair to Salazar. Better that he have people behind him who are invested.”
“Take the case,” Kozlowski said.
Finn was silent for a moment. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Open the friggin’ door, it’s cold.”
“Why?”
“I told you, it’s friggin’ cold.”
“No. Why do you want me to take the case?”
Kozlowski shook his head. “I’m not buyin’ this guy the way you are. Yeah, he seems okay now, but even if he didn’t shoot Maddy, he’s been in for fifteen years, and nobody spends that kind of time in a place like this and keeps his shit the way Salazar claims to have. He’s conning us, no matter what, at some level.”
“But . . . ?”
“But I was friends with Maddy Steele. I may not be convinced that Salazar is innocent, but I’m not convinced that he’s guilty, either. And if Salazar didn’t shoot Maddy, then the asshole who did is still out walkin’ the streets. That doesn’t sit well with me, and it won’t until I get some answers.” He punctuated his point with his eyes, daring Finn to ask any further questions. “Now open this fucking door before I peel off this ratty piece-of-shit cloth you call a roof and open it myself.”
Finn slipped into the driver’s seat and reached over to unlock Kozlowski’s door, pulling on the handle to open it. Kozlowski grunted loudly as he folded his bulk into the low, narrow passenger seat. “You know,” Finn said as he turned the key and the engine sputtered to life, “you’re really very strange.”
“No,” Kozlowski replied, “mainly, I’m really very cold.”
z
Finn and Kozlowski stopped for lunch on the way back to the office: bangers and mash for Kozlowski and a Reuben for Finn at a local pub in Charlestown. The food was great, but the service left something to be desired, and it was nearly two o’clock by the time they pushed open the door to the old building that housed their offices. Finn had put a down payment on the brownstone with the generous severance he’d taken from the partners at Howery; Kozlowski paid a nominal rent for the use of two rooms in the back.
“Jesus fucking Christ, where have you been?” Lissa Krantz accosted them as they walked through the door. Finn was still adjusting to the way she littered her language with creative obscenities. It wasn’t unusual for the older legal practitioners to season every sentence with a pungent curse or two, but it shocked Finn, coming from Lissa. She was a petite thirty-two-year-old law student at Northeastern, with a lithe body toned from endless hours on treadmills and StairMasters, dark hair and olive skin carefully maintained through regular trips to high-end Newbury Street salons, and shoes and clothes that he was sure cost more than his car. She’d been interning with Finn for eight months, and her legal and organizational effort had been astounding, so Finn was beginning to get
Similar Books
