Strangled - Brian McGrory [15]
Mara had the good fortune of being president of the city council when I wrote a series of stories that cost the previous mayor his job, and after being elevated to acting mayor, she had the better sense of mind to know she wasn’t quite ready to be elected to office. So she stood aside and allowed Hal Harrison, the police commissioner, to launch his campaign, which happened to be against a thirty something multimillionaire hedge fund manager who thought it might be more fun to spend other people’s money running the city government than investing his own in a bunch of boring biotech companies. And he was probably right.
The acting mayor prattled on for a while about some of Hal Harrison’s many successes in keeping Boston safe, while the big-ticket contributors in the crowd wondered what kind of access their money would buy, and the regular cops in attendance mentally calculated the size of the pension he had amassed. Laird went on to introduce the senior senator from Massachusetts, Stu Callaghan, who in turn talked about the old days some four decades before when he was the Massachusetts attorney general and Harrison was a hotshot detective quickly climbing the ranks.
My God, this was worse than watching old home movies; at least there was the possibility of seeing yourself in those. When the waiter came around, I asked, “Could I have a tall glass of hemlock?”
He looked at me quizzically. Mac Foley actually laughed — as in a real-life, full-on, can’t-keep-it-inside laugh. Then I added, “Just kidding.”
“I could use a double one of those myself,” Foley said to me, leaning in. But the warmth quickly vanished. He stood up, kept his gaze on me a moment longer than I expected, and walked away into an unlit corner of the vast room.
Onstage, Senator Callaghan was describing Commissioner Harrison as a “great American,” “civic treasure,” and “courageous crimefighter.” Forget the hemlock and give me a noose. I couldn’t take even another minute of this oral flatulence.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. Harrison was a good enough cop, I’m sure. At least the city never seemed ready to tilt out of control under his leadership. But my God, politicians laying it on thick for other politicians — that I’ve always found to be an unseemly sight.
Across the room, I noticed that Mac Foley had settled into another table and was talking intently to yet another cop in a navy blazer and loosely knotted tie. I think they were talking about me. I think this because at one point, the jackass Foley was talking to pointed right at me and Foley said what looked to be “That’s him.” I don’t think they were trying to pick out the guy in the crowd with the most defined abs. This was most definitely strange.
From the podium, all I heard was more blah-blah-blah, and then amid the white noise and nothingness, I heard a word — or maybe it was a phrase — that struck a nerve. It was as if someone had just slapped me across the face. I quickly dialed back into Stu Callaghan, thinking I must have misunderstood something that he had said.
“…when the city was in crisis, and he was the one to bring order to it all by cracking that case open like an egg, saving lives and creating calm. He put the Phantom Fiend behind bars for the rest of his dangerous life…”
My package. My tip. My note. I looked reflexively toward Mac Foley, who happened to be looking directly back at me, a stern look now, his brow furrowed, his eyes cold. He quickly averted his gaze.
When he did, I got up out of my seat in that crouched way you do when you’re trying to be unobtrusive. The crowd was applauding the senator, who was paying tribute to the commissioner. As I slid past Mongillo, I noticed that he was most definitely not clapping. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I whispered to him. And I was gone. The night had paid off in the oddest way.
5
Once in a cab on Arlington Street, I belted out the number to the Record morgue, which isn’t really a morgue at all, even if the people in it can seem half-dead some of the time. No, it’s journalese for the newspaper library. I asked