The Detective D. D. Warren Series 5-Book Bundle

  “Mommy,” Nathan said, and burrowed his head against her shoulder.

  Bobby smiled at them both. Then D.D. finished reading him his rights and led him away.

  Epilogue

  January was an ugly month. Thermometer hovered around ten degrees. The wind contained a cruel bite that went straight for the bones.

  Bobby didn’t mind it that much. He strode down Newbury Street, wool cap pulled low, scarf tight around his ears and the rest of him buried deep in his down jacket. Tiny white lights twinkled merrily on the rows of trees lining the street. Store windows still boasted bright holiday colors and hints of frivolous retail treats.

  New Englanders were a hardy lot, and even on a day like today, people were out and about, enjoying the city and taking advantage of fresh winter snow.

  Bobby had reached a benchmark of his own today. He’d had his last meeting with Dr. Lane.

  “So how were the holidays?” she’d asked him.

  “Good. Spent it with my father. We went out. Two bachelor men, no sense cooking.”

  “And your brother?”

  “George never returned Pop’s call.”

  “That must have been hard on your father.”

  “He wasn’t wild about it, but what can you do? George is a big boy. He’ll have to come around on his own.”

  “And you?”

  Bobby shrugged. “I can’t speak for George, but Pop and I are doing okay.”

  “Which, of course, brings us to your mother.”

  “You always want to talk about my mother.”

  “Industry habit.”

  He’d sighed, shaking his head at her persistence. But of course they were going to talk about his mother. They always talked about his mother. “Okay. So, I asked my father some questions about her, like you and I discussed. Pop did his best to answer. We, uh, we actually had a conversation about that night.”

  “Was that difficult?”

  He spread his hands. “More like … awkward. You know the truth? That one big apocalyptic night? Neither one of us remembers it too well. Seriously. I was too young. Pop was too drunk. And maybe—I’m guessing here—but maybe that’s why we can move on and George can’t. He still sees what happened. Honest to God, even when we try, Pop and I can’t.”

  “Has your father tried contacting your mother?”

  “He said he did, years ago, as part of his program. He reached her sister in Florida. She said she’d give my mom the message. He never heard anything again.”

  “So you have an aunt?”

  “I have an aunt,” Bobby said matter-of-factly, “and two living grandparents.”

  Dr. Lane blinked. “That’s news.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Oh boy,” he rolled his eyes, laughing a little at the trite phrase, but it was a strained laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted finally with a sigh, “yeah, that’s a tough one. To know you got family out there and they’ve never even tried to reach out … it hurts. How can it not hurt? I tell myself it’s their loss. I tell myself a lot of things. But okay, it sucks.”

  “Have you thought of contacting them yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t know. I mean, I’m thirty-six. Seems a little old to be reaching out to Grandma and Grandpa. Maybe if they don’t want to reach me, I should take the hint.”

  “You don’t really believe that, Bobby.”

  Another shrug.

  “So what’s really going on?” Dr. Lane had gotten to know him pretty well.

  He sighed, stared at the floor. “I think maybe it’s a matter of politics. My mother’s in Florida. George is in Florida. We never hear from him, we never hear from her. I think maybe the family split. George abandoned Pop, but gained Mom. I didn’t abandon Pop, so …”

  “You think as long as you’re close to your father, your mom won’t contact you.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  Dr. Lane nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible. Although I would suggest it would be healthier for you and your mother to have your own relationship, regardless of your father.”

  Bobby grinned wryly. “Well, you know, feel free to write her a note.” His smile faded. He shrugged again. “Life is what it is. I’m trying to do as you suggested—focus on controlling the things I can control, and letting go of the things I can’t. I can’t control my mom, I can’t control my grandparents, I can’t control George.”

  “That’s very wise of you, Bobby.”

  “Hell, I’m a regular sage these days.”

  She smiled at him. “So, moving right along. Work?”

  “Start next week.”

  “Excited?”

  “More like nervous.”

  “That’s to be expected.”

  He considered things. “I was cleared for shooting Jimmy Gagnon and I was cleared for killing Copley, so that’s all good. But I broke with the ranks. My involvement with Catherine, the way I handled the investigation … I burned a lot of bridges there. Part of being on STOP is being a team player. There are a lot of guys who now doubt my ability to be part of the team.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I miss the team,” he answered firmly. “I miss my job. I’m good at it, and if I have to prove myself again—well, I’ll prove myself again. I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

  “But I’m curious, Bobby. Do you consider yourself a team player?”

  “Sure. But being a team player shouldn’t be an excuse for acting stupid. If the whole team is leaping off a cliff, should you join them, or, for the sake of the team, should you stand up and say, ‘Hey, guys, stop leaping’? With all respect to D.D. and the other investigators, they didn’t understand what was going on with the Gagnons. I did. So I followed my conscience. And I’m fine with that. Frankly, that’s what a good cop should do.”

  “Why, Bobby, you’ve come a very long way.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Her voice grew quieter, so he knew what she was going to ask next. “Do you still dream about him?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “How often?”

  “I don’t know.” His own voice had grown soft. He no longer looked at her, but studied her framed diploma on the wall. “Maybe three, four times a week.”

  “That’s better than it was.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sleeping?”

  “Some. That road … it’s gonna be a long one.”

  “Do you think there will be a time when you won’t think of Jimmy Gagnon?”

  “I killed the man. That’s a heavy burden to bear. Especially knowing there might have been mitigating circumstances. Especially … well, you know, that’s precisely the problem. Even after two months, I’m still not sure what happened that night.”

  “The police aren’t pressing charges against Catherine?”

  “No evidence.”

  “I thought you said they found a gun in the dresser in the bedroom.”

  He shrugged. “But what does that prove? She fired two shots in her own home? There’s no law against that. The decision to kill Jimmy was mine and mine alone. I’m the one who saw his face. I’m the one who pulled the trigger.”

  “Do you hate her?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And the other times?”

  He smiled wryly. “The other times I’d just as soon keep to myself.”

  Dr. Lane shook her head. “She’s a dangerous woman, Bobby.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Well, I think we’re all set for now. I’ve signed off on the paperwork and sent it over to Lieutenant Bruni. Of course, you’re always welcome to call me.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Good luck to you, Bobby.”

  And he said genuinely, “Thanks, Doc. Thank you very much.”

  He was at the end of Newbury Street now, arriving at the Public Garden. Children were running through the maze of trees, trying to catc
h snowflakes on their tongues. Adults were out, too, bundled up against the cold. Some watched the kids. Others walked an assortment of exuberant dogs.

  Bobby didn’t see them right away. When he finally did, he was pleasantly surprised.

  He crossed to Catherine, beautiful as always in a black wool coat and deep purple scarf and gloves. Nathan wasn’t sitting beside her. For a change, he was chasing after two other kids, the puppy hot on his heels.

  “I almost didn’t recognize him,” Bobby said as he took a seat.

  Catherine glanced up at him, flashed a smile, then went back to watching her son. “Two weeks suddenly makes a big difference.”

  “I take it the new diet is working out.”

  “The power of high-fructose corn syrup. Turns out glucose and galactose are processed by the GLUT2 gene, which in Nathan’s case is mutated. Fructose, however, is transported by GLUT5, so his system can absorb it much more readily. Now he’s not only getting more calories, but he’s finally getting an energy source his body can use to grow.”

  “Catherine, that’s excellent.”

  She smiled again, but then her expression, as it often did these days, grew more somber. “He’ll be on a restricted diet all of his life, and even then, he’s going to have issues. His body doesn’t absorb nutrients the way it should. He’ll always have to monitor his health, and God knows all the complications still to come.”

  “But the two of you are pros.”

  “I wish I would’ve found the cause sooner. I wish I would’ve gotten him better help earlier. I wish … I wish so many things.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Given the past two months, they both had their share of regrets. “Any word on the house?” he asked at last.

  “Already sold.”

  “Jesus, that was fast.”

  “There’s a waiting list for Back Bay. Even at these prices.”

  Bobby shook his head. Catherine had listed her residence at four million. He’d never understand where people got that kind of money. “So what’s next?”

  “I’m thinking of Arizona. Someplace warm, where Nathan can play outside every day. Someplace where no one has ever heard of James Gagnon or Richard Umbrio. Someplace where Nathan and I can both start fresh.”

  “And Maryanne?”

  “She’s devastated about what James put us through. I think she’d like a fresh start, too, and more time with Nathan. On the other hand … you know, she really loves James. Even after everything, I don’t think she can bring herself to leave him.”

  James was in a coma. Between the blood loss and damage to his internal organs, his system had shut down. Doctors didn’t think he’d ever regain consciousness. Mostly, they were surprised the man was still alive.

  “Maybe someday,” Bobby said.

  Catherine nodded. “Maryanne likes Arizona. She mentioned they’d always talked about buying a home out there. So maybe, afterwards …”

  His turn to nod. Now they both watched Nathan. The boy’s cheeks were flushed, his breath coming in frosty pants. Trickster nipped at his heels and all the children laughed.

  “The nightmares?” Bobby asked quietly.

  She smiled wanly. “Only half a dozen a night.”

  “You or him?”

  She smiled again, but the look was sad. “Both. You know what’s funny? I don’t dream of Umbrio. First time in my life, I no longer fear a stranger turning down the street. I dream of Jimmy. That last look on his face. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, I hear Nathan calling out for Jimmy, as well.”

  “Ouch,” Bobby said.

  “Ouch,” she agreed. She paused. “When we get to Arizona, I think I’m going to find a specialist. Someone who can help Nathan with the trauma. And maybe someone who can help me, too.”

  “I think that would be a great idea.”

  “You could come with us.”

  “What, and give up all this cold?”

  Her hand clutched his. “Bobby, I’m scared.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you not want to work? I can support you—”

  “Don’t.”

  She turned away, immediately embarrassed, but he softened the blow by stroking her cheek.

  “You’re the most special woman I know, Catherine,” he said. “You love your son, you finally stood up to Umbrio. You’re going to be okay. Both you and Nathan. It just takes time.”

  “If I’m so special,” she challenged in a muffled tone, “why don’t you come with us?”

  Bobby smiled. He pulled his hand away from her, clasping his fingers on his lap. He looked at Nathan, running and laughing with the other kids, and then he said the only thing left to be said: “Got a call from Detective Warren the other day.”

  Beside him, Catherine immediately stilled.

  “She’s been working the connection between Judge Gagnon and Colleen Robinson—looking for phone records, financial transactions, anything to tie the two together. The judge was a smart man. D.D. can find records of cash withdrawals but no indication of where the money went. And when it comes to phone records, D.D. can’t find evidence of a single call. Not from the judge.

  “But she found two calls from you.”

  Bobby turned and looked at Catherine. In her cool gaze, he saw a wariness that told him more than any words.

  “Turns out, Colleen Robinson had a bad time of it in prison. Getting out, she joined a female support group for post-traumatic stress syndrome. You might know the group, Catherine. According to the counselor, you attended some of the meetings.”

  “I tried out group therapy once,” Catherine said levelly. “But that was ages ago. Before I met Jimmy. Surely you don’t expect me to remember one woman from so many years ago.”

  “Maybe you didn’t. But maybe she remembered you.” Bobby shook his head, bouncing his fingertips off one another. “I’ve been turning over the pieces in my mind all week. On the one hand, I don’t think you had the connections to get Umbrio out of prison. But once you knew he was out, that the judge had pulled those strings … Did Colleen give you a call? Is that how it worked? Maybe she wanted some sort of payoff, or maybe she was just trying to be helpful, give you a warning. Of course, a warning wouldn’t help you, would it? Umbrio was legally paroled. And the police were too busy suspecting you of murder to be interested in offering you protection. No, you were all alone, backed into a corner. Is that when the idea came to you, Catherine? That you could use the judge’s own weapon against him?”

  “Richard Umbrio murdered my father,” Catherine said steadily. “How dare you suggest I had anything to do with him. For heaven’s sake, he killed Tony and Prudence. What incentive did I have to engineer such a thing?”

  “You didn’t, not for Tony and Prudence. I suspect Judge Gagnon was the one who paid Umbrio for those targets. But Rick Copley, on the other hand … the ADA was going after you, Catherine. If he had his way, you would’ve lost Nathan.”

  Catherine thinned her lips mutinously. She said nothing.

  “And then there’s the judge himself,” Bobby continued quietly. “A man so cautious, so clever, he left behind no phone or financial records that tie him to Colleen or Umbrio. And yet Umbrio headed straight for him. How did he know to go after Judge Gagnon, Catherine? Who gave him the judge’s name?”

  “You would have to ask Umbrio.”

  “I can’t, Catherine. You killed him.”

  She didn’t say anything more. Because she had no defense, or because she didn’t think he’d believe her if she did? He doubted he would ever know the answer to that. When it came to Catherine, he doubted he would ever know the answer to a lot of things.

  “Dr. Lane told me something early on,” he murmured. “She said that, for a woman like you, when it came down to protecting your world, there wasn’t any line you wouldn’t cross. It’s true, isn’t it, Catherine? To protect yourself against Judge Gagnon, you were willing to deal with the likes of Umbrio. Through Colleen Robinson, you paid money to the devil himself.”


  He paused a heartbeat. “Rick Copley,” he said quietly, “was a very fine man. So, I think, was your father.”

  Catherine didn’t speak, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

  “I hope,” she said after a moment, “that someday, when you have your own child, you will never know what it’s like to fear for his life.”

  “You had other people to help you, Catherine. I helped you.”

  She finally looked at him. “But I didn’t know that in the beginning, did I?”

  She rose off the bench, still regal, still ungodly beautiful, and even knowing what he knew, he found himself holding his breath.

  “D.D.’s a good detective,” he said softly.

  “My son is safe. For that, no price is too high.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  She smiled crookedly. “Bobby, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane at night. I’ll miss you in Arizona.”

  “Goodbye, Catherine.”

  Catherine retrieved her son. Bobby sat on the bench, snowflakes falling on his face, and watched them walk away.

  After another moment, D.D. emerged from the white van parked down the street. She sat down heavily on the bench beside him.

  “Told you you wouldn’t get anything,” Bobby commented.

  She shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  He reached inside his jacket, and went to work on the wires.

  “You think she’s honestly moving to Arizona?” D.D. asked. Then she added, “I can always extradite her when the time comes.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m going to get her, Bobby.”

  “It hardly matters.”

  D.D. scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

  “All she’ll ever need is one man appointed to the jury, then Catherine will never spend so much as a day behind bars.” Bobby rose off the bench. “Face it, they don’t make ’em like her anymore.”

  “Thank God,” D.D. muttered.

  Bobby smiled. He stuck his hands into his front jacket pockets and headed home.

  Author’s Note and Acknowledgments

  As always, I’m deeply indebted to many folks for helping make this book happen. The following list of people kindly and patiently offered me expert opinions. Of course, any mistakes and incidences of artistic license are my responsibility alone.