Roses Are Red

his head as I entered the room.
    Doud came up behind me. He held out the suicide note, which had been placed in a plastic evidence bag. I read it without removing the plastic. The note was to Walsh’s two sons.
    It finally got to be too much for me.
This job; this case; everything else.
Andrew, Peter, I’m truly sorry about this.
    Love,
your dad
    A cell phone sounded and it startled me. It was Doud’s phone. He answered but then handed it to me. “It’s Betsey,” he said.
    “I’m on my way to the airport. Oh, Alex, why would he do such a thing?” I heard her voice. She was obviously still in New York. “Oh, poor Jim. Poor Jim. Why would he kill himself? I don’t believe it. He’s not the type.”
    Then she sobbed loudly into the phone, and though she was far away, I had never felt closer to her.
    I didn’t say what I was thinking. I held it inside and it chilled me a little.
Maybe Betsey’s gut reaction was right. Maybe James Walsh didn’t kill himself.

Chapter 93
    I RETURNED TO NEW YORK CITY early on Monday morning. There was a nine o’clock briefing at FBI headquarters in Manhattan, and I made it just in time. I was holding a lot inside, holding it tight, trying not to look like anything was wrong.
    I walked into a formal conference room wearing sunglasses. Betsey must have sensed I was there. She looked up from a mountain of paperwork and she nodded solemnly. I could tell she’d spent a good part of the night thinking about Walsh. So had I.
    I took one of the empty seats just as a lawyer from the Justice Department was beginning to address the group. He looked to be in his fifties, rigid and solemn, nearly without affect. He wore a shiny charcoal gray suit that had narrow lapels and looked at least twenty years old.
    “An arrangement has been made with Brian Macdougall,” he announced to the assembled group.
    I looked over at Betsey and she shook her head, rolled her eyes. She already
knew.
    I couldn’t believe it. I listened closely to every word out of the Justice lawyer’s mouth.
    “You are not to speak about anything discussed in this room. We’re releasing nothing to the press. Detective Macdougall has agreed to talk to investigators about the overall plan, and the execution of it in the MetroHartford kidnapping. He has valuable information that could lead to the capture of an extremely important UNSUB, the so-called Mastermind.”
    I was completely shell-shocked, undermined, and I felt totally fucked with. Goddamn Justice had made the deal over the weekend, and I would have bet anything that Macdougall got exactly what he had asked for. It made me physically sick, but that was the way Justice had been working ever since I became a cop.
    Brian Macdougall had known exactly what kind of deal he could get from them. Now the only relevant question was, could he give us the Mastermind? How much did he know? Did he know a goddamn thing?
    I would find out soon. I got to interview star-witness Detective Macdougall late that morning at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. Detective Harry Weiss was there for the NYPD. Betsey Cavalierre represented the FBI during the session.
    Macdougall had two lawyers present. Neither of them wore twenty-year-old suits. They looked slick, very expensive, smart. The detective glanced up as we entered a small booking room where the meeting was to be held. “This stinks, right?” he said. “I happen to agree. But that’s the system.”
    Macdougall the Philosopher sat down between his lawyers, and the session began.
    Betsey leaned into me. She whispered, “This ought to be good. Now we get to see what Justice bought.”

Chapter 94
    THE MEETING started out very badly. Detective Weiss from NYPD Internal Affairs took it upon himself to speak for the rest of us. Weiss found it necessary to start at the beginning and methodically go over Macdougall’s previous statement sentence by sentence.
    It was excruciating. I badly wanted to interrupt him, but I didn’t. Every time Weiss asked another question or launched into a senseless diatribe criticizing Macdougall, I nudged Betsey’s foot under the table. To punctuate a couple of embarrassing exchanges she kicked me in the shins.
    Macdougall finally had enough of it, too. “You fucking suck!” he blew up at Weiss. “You people are a joke. It’s about your
gut,
Weiss, not covering your fat ass. You’re wasting my time. Let somebody else ask the questions.”
    He glared at Weiss, who still seemed not to get