The Fence - Dick Lehr [29]
Kenny was twenty-two years old. Graduation from the academy on June 19, 1991, was one of the most important days of his life. His family gathered for the ceremony, and Kenny proudly posed for photographs in his uniform with his mom and dad, and with Mike Doyle, who was also sworn in and was now on the force. Several nights later, Kenny, Mike Doyle, and other new officers hosted a celebration in Southie at the teachers’ union hall. Father Toomey showed up to see his former crew and to congratulate Kenny and Mike.
Kenny was living at home on H Street. His father was gone, but his twin sister, Kris, was there, as she attended Emerson College in the Back Bay. His older sister, Cheryl, lived in the house with her two kids, too. Kenny no longer slept in his boyhood bedroom on the third floor. He made the basement into a makeshift bachelor’s pad, laying down carpet and installing a separate entrance in back.
Kenny worked hard—both his regular shift out of the Area D–4 station and details to earn extra money. In his free time he’d work out and play basketball in a couple of men’s leagues, including Gatie’s. For a few years he played football on Sundays. He hung out with the same friends from the corner of H and Fifth. They’d bring a beer cooler to the basketball games. Or, after games, they’d go home and shower and grab beers at The Cornerstone in Southie, which was owned by a family friend, or the Corner Tavern at K and Second Streets. Kenny’s sandy-brown hair began thinning prematurely, and he became a “cap guy” with a growing collection of Red Sox, hockey, and other caps.
The mega-blow to the Conley family came in the fall of 1994. No one saw it coming. Maureen Conley had been working her shifts as a banquet waitress without incident. She had not had a drink in more than a year. “She was doing great,” Kenny said. Kenny was out working a detail that October 19, 1994, Kris was leaving for work when her mother said she did not feel quite right. Their aunt came by and saw that Maureen was in trouble. Kenny was called and rushed home. He called an ambulance. His mother was taken to the New England Medical Center, where doctors discovered she had acute kidney failure due to hepatorenal syndrome, along with liver disease.
“She went into a coma,” said Kris. “She had surgery, but never recovered.” Five and half weeks later, Maureen Conley was dead. “It was so sudden,” said Kris. “Boom.”
Two months later, Kenny was still shaken but kept his grief to himself.
Kenny and Bobby Dwan had barely cleared the East Newton Street area when they were called back, this time to talk to a man who lived in an apartment above a restaurant. The man complained nervously about the goings-on in apartment 3, saying drug dealers lived there. “He said there was supposed to be a drug shipment coming in,” Kenny said. Intrigued, Kenny and Bobby stuck around to see if the man was right.
They began the stakeout at 1:09 A.M. By 2:07 A.M., they’d had enough. Bobby called the dispatcher and they pulled away. “Nothing happened,” said Kenny.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Mike Cox and the gang unit had high hopes for the club Cortee’s, where an assembly of hip-hoppers included Robert “Smut” Brown and his friends. For Kenny Conley, though, the shift was shaping up like another ordinary night in what so far had been an ordinary career. In his four years on the force, Kenny had never been shot at. He’d never had to shoot at someone. He’d made plenty of arrests, but never a major one—such as a collar in a murder case. The absence of medals on his wall did not bother him. He was a young officer who did his job without fanfare.
But that was about to change, and despite what was in store for him, Kenny came up with a bit of gallows humor for that night. He would say years later that January 25, 1995, was one night “I wish I’d called in sick.”
CHAPTER 4
The Troubled Boston PD
When Mike Cox and Kenny Conley were finding their footing during the early 1990s