Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Gary stared at Chris. “Surely if that were true, you’d have said something at the time. But there’s nothing like this in your statement to the police.”
“I had my reasons,” Chris wheezed.
“What reason could there be that warrants covering up what you believe to be murder?”
Chris studied him for a moment. “I was afraid… I’d end up like James.”
“You really thought your boss was a murderer?” Dan appeared incredulous.
Chris’s chest heaved. “Do you live in… Boston, Mr. Porter?” Dan shook his head, and Chris gave a single nod. “Because if you did… you’d know the name Gianni DiFanetti… unless you lived under a rock. I was scared… for my job, my wife….”
“But how do you know he did it?” Gary demanded. “Did you see him push James off that roof?”
“No, but… I heard their conversation.”
Gary shook his head. “All your coworkers stated the boss was in his on-site office on the phone when they went to get him after discovering James had fallen. Nowhere near the building plot where James was found.”
Dan’s voice was gentle. “Tell us what you heard.”
Friday June 24, 2016
Chris went through the open space that would soon be someone’s front door and scanned the ground for his newspaper.
He was certain he’d last seen it around there.
A rectangular hole in the joists above his head marked where the staircase would be, a ladder propped against one of them.
Some of the second floor had already been laid, cutting off his view of the roof rafters, making the interior a little darker.
His head was still reeling. They can cure it, right?
He’d read so much stuff online in the last month about lung cancer, and most of it made him feel sick.
And as for James’s revelations…. They’d only spoken of it once since that day.
James had put together all the things he wanted to say to the boss.
Chris thought James was crazy. Demanding money from Gianni DiFanetti was a surefire way to end up in Boston Harbor wearing concrete boots. He’d begged James to reconsider, but James had been adamant.
Then he realized he could hear the murmur of voices above him, as though the speakers were up on the rafters. Chris went to the foot of the ladder and listened. He couldn’t see anyone, but he recognized the speakers. He froze.
“You’re gonna do this, you hear?”
Aw fuck, James.
Chris would know the boss’s snort anywhere. “Ya think? You can’t make me.”
He listened intently, but James’s voice dropped to a mumble, and he couldn’t catch the words. Whatever he’d said had evidently struck a nerve. The boss sounded pissed.
No, James, don’t piss him off. You know who you’re dealing with, right?
James mumbled again, and then silence fell, a quiet that chilled Chris to the bone. Then the boss spoke, delivering his words in a flat tone loaded with menace.
“You know fuck all about that fucking painter freak.”
Thursday, July 12, 2018
“What did that mean?” Gary asked. The rasp in Chris’s voice, the whisper of the BiPAP machine; all of it sent a shiver through him.
“No idea. Made no sense to me.” Chris’s eyes were full of pain. “I… I’m not a brave man…. I didn’t want the boss… to know I was there.” He breathed deeply. “So yeah, I picked up my paper… and scurried out of there… like a frightened rat. I hurried back… to the others.”
“And said nothing,” Dan observed.
“Yeah. I tried to act normal. I read my paper… waiting for… James to join us… so I could… find out the rest… only… he never came back. Then Dex started yelling… and we packed up… all our stuff… and went back to plot three.” He swallowed.
“Where you found James on the ground, dead,” Gary concluded.
Chris nodded. “Neck broken. And no sign of the boss.” He shivered. “I’ve thought a lot… about this. I figure I was gone… maybe ten minutes. Plenty of time for… the boss to push him, climb down… and head back to his office.”
“You don’t think James would’ve cried out if that were true?”
“Not if… the boss knocked him… out first with a… piece of wood… then shoved him off.”
“Was DiFanetti strong enough to do that?”
Chris nodded. “Big guy. Then when we got to… his office, he was… on the phone. Said he’d been… talking for a half hour.”
Dan glanced at Gary. “Wouldn’t the police have checked up on that? Phone records or something?”
“Why would they?” Gary said. “As far as they were concerned, James was just a carpenter who’d fallen off a roof. It was an accidental death, substantiated by witness statements.”
Dan stroked his smooth jaw. “Something I have to ask. This was two years ago. Why tell us now?”
Chris’s face darkened, and he inclined his head toward the door. “Because Carla has lung cancer too.”
Gary’s breathing caught. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“So that’s both of us dying. We don’t have kids.
No way the guy can… hurt us anymore.” He clutched the sheet tightly.
“I’ve felt so guilty. If I’d made a noise…
said something… the boss would’ve known he…
had an audience… and maybe James would still…
be alive. I had to… set the record straight… before… before it’s too late.”
Gary rose, and Dan joined him. “Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
Chris reached out and grabbed Gary’s hand. “Wait. One more thing.” They stilled, and he released Gary. “James told me what… he was going to say… to the boss.”
“You mentioned that,” Gary told him.
He nodded. “But that stuff about a painter? James had to have… said something about it… to get that reaction. Only….” He locked gazes with Gary. “That wasn’t in the script.”
The door opened, and Carla came back into the room, carrying a cup. “I think my husband has talked for long enough, don’t you?”
“We’re done now,” Gary informed her.
“I had to… tell someone, honey.”
Her face tightened. “I know. And now that you have, maybe you’ll sleep a little easier. Let the police deal with it.”
They thanked the couple, then left the room, walking slowly toward the exit, Gary going over Chris’s words in his head.
“I knew about his wife’s cancer,” Dan said quietly. “But I couldn’t say anything, not without giving the game away.” He paused. “It doesn’t add up, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Gary admitted. “So he was going to confront his boss. But radon levels? That’s not enough to get him killed.
If Chris is right—and I see no reason to doubt him—and those barriers can be retrofitted for all builds after 2016, then what was the problem?
” He pursed his lips. “No, it feels wrong. There had to be something else.”
“I agree. Maybe the key to all this is ‘that fucking painter freak.’”
Gary had a feeling he might be right. “And who the hell knows what that meant?”
As they neared the car, Gary got his phone out and dialed. “Mrs. Sebring? Detective Mitchell here. Just to inform you we’ve been to see Chris Reed.”
“And? What did you find out?”
“He’s given us new information that I can’t discuss right now. But we will look into it.”
The problem was Gary had no idea where to start.
“There is one thing I’d like to know. Mr. Reed talked about your diagnosis.”
A sigh filled his ear. “Yeah. I’m receiving treatment.
They removed a third of my lung, and so far I’m doing okay.
Fingers crossed, right? Thank God the medical bills get covered.
I was sure my insurance wouldn’t stretch that far, but James’s old boss told me he’d take care of it. He’s been awesome.”
You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d been in that room with us just now.
“I didn’t say so before, but…. Something was going on with James in the weeks before he died. He wasn’t himself. It was like there was something eating away at him, and he wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“Mrs. Sebring, when we have more definite news, we’ll share it, okay?” Gary assured her. “In the meantime, look after yourself.”
“Did I do the right thing, coming to you? I-I couldn’t let it go.”
James would’ve been proud of her.
Gary did his best to reassure her, then said goodbye and hung up. He stood next to the car, fingering his keys in his pocket.
“What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t want to say it, but I don’t think this will go anywhere.” No sooner had he said this than his phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. He sighed.
“Travers wants to see us.”
Dan walked into their office and removed his jacket, then hung it over the back of a chair. “I’ll make us some coffee.” He picked up the pot and went to the door, almost colliding with Travers on his way in. Dan replaced the pot.
Coffee would have to wait.
Travers closed the door behind him. “Well? Any luck? Or was it a giant fishing expedition?”
Dan listened as Gary recounted what they’d discovered. When he revealed the name of James’s boss, Travers whistled.
“Wow. Much as I would love for Gianni DiFanetti to turn out to be a killer, I don’t think there’s enough evidence to pursue this.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Gary remarked. “Which makes me feel sorry for James’s wife.”
Dan had been intrigued since Gary’s first mention of the DiFanetti family. “Who is he?”
Travers sat, leaning on the arm of the chair. “He says he’s a businessman, but everyone knows he’s up to his armpits in some shady stuff. His dad, Bruno, is the head of the family. Haven’t heard much about him, but I suspect the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”
“Are we talking organized crime?” Dan had thought stuff like that had died out years ago.
“In the forties and fifties, the DiFanettis were into a whole load of shit—gambling, prostitution, narcotics, smuggling, you name it. Still up to no good in the sixties. Nowadays, though?” Travers rolled his eyes.
“They’ve got a PR campaign painting them as pillars of the community, but you know what?
I’d bet if you dug down deep enough, you’d still come up with the same shit.
” He got up, went to the desk, and peered at the folders Gary had placed there.
“You want my advice? You’ve gone as far as you can with this.
Leave it alone, and tomorrow get started on a cold case.
In fact if I might make a suggestion….” He tapped one of the folders with a long finger.
“Start with a case from 2006. The body in the tunnel.” His eyes glittered.
“That should test your powers, Mr. Porter.”
Dan blinked. “A body in a tunnel?”
“Part of the Fort Point Channel Tunnel collapsed in July 2006, killing a motorist and injuring her partner,” Gary told him. “City got sued—successfully—for millions. But what made it weird was the skeleton that turned up in the debris, wrapped in plastic, with no head. I was there.”
Travers widened his eyes. “Really?”
Gary nodded. “I was about to undergo more training to become a detective. But yeah, I was the one who showed Del Maddox the body.”
Something was tugging at Dan’s senses. “Lieutenant? Why do you think we should start with that case?”
Travers looked him in the eye. “Because I don’t believe in coincidence.”