Chapter One
Smoke and Mirrors
"We can do this, Hoyt. You can do it. All you have to do is make up your mind."
Woody was silent for several minutes. "I don't know. With all due respect, Captain, I just don't know."
Captain Freeman looked the young detective over for a moment. "If there was any doubt in my mind, I wouldn't have asked you to begin with."
Woody nodded. "I know…it's just that this…this is the biggest assignment I've ever been offered. I'm not sure if I can handle it."
"With all due respect, you're the one in the best position to handle it," Rene' Walcott added, coming up off her seat to stand in front of Woody and stare him down. "You've unintentionally set yourself up to be the perfect detective for this case…from your history to your current situation. Anyone else…well, anyone else would just raise suspicion to their fellow officers and others in the law enforcement community…but now…" her voice trailed off.
Woody knew exactly where the DA was coming from. But now…he thought, carefully considering what the Captain had offered him and what Walcott had presented…now I could drop off the face of the earth and no one would notice—or care. Not my fellow officers…not my friends, what few I have left…not Lu…and…and…no one else. In that aspect, they're right. I am the perfect one for this assignment.
He had struggled since his shooting. His bad temper and foul moods were now on legendary proportions with Boston PD and others. His past behavior, which had been stellar, was now marred with a series of bad judgments and renegade cop behavior. Woody had become a force of one, determined to right wrongs and bring justice without back up, without necessarily following the rules, and with as much force as he deemed necessary. The result of these actions was fellow officers who hardly dared speak to him, four insubordination reports in six months now in his file, and friends that had drifted away with no thought of reestablishing contact. Then, of course there was Lu, a woman he had given a fleeting thought about pursuing a relationship. Now she wouldn't even speak to him.
Much less Jordan Cavanaugh. That bridge was long burned. They had been civil with each other the few times they had to work together, but otherwise, there was nothing between them any longer. Instead of seeing her whiskey-colored eyes light up when she saw him now, they would quickly darken and shutter, concealing any of her thoughts from him.
Which was just as well….Woody thought. Especially now that she seemed to be deeply involved with that JD Pollack…the tabloid reporter from hell.
Woody shifted in his seat and stared uneasily at a point over Walcott's shoulder. He knew of all the detectives in the Boston police force, if one had to literally drop off the face of the earth, do a one-eighty, completely change and leave, he was the one in the best position With him, it would be believable. And he wouldn't be missed. He could operate freely under a cloak of seeming anonymity and no one would miss him.
But his heart tugged a little at the thought. There still was enough of the old Woody left in him…the do-gooder-boy-scout from Wisconsin … that hurt at the idea that no one would wonder where he was at…what he was doing…why he was gone. He sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. Still, Captain Freeman was correct. Wrongs needed to be righted. Justice needed to prevail. The really bad guys needed to be put away.
And it seemed he was just the man to put the wheels of justice in to motion.
"We've got everything in place," Walcott continued, softly, trying to coax Woody into an immediate answer. While she was sure the detective could handle it, she also was aware of the fact the final answer would ultimately be his. Woody would have to agree to this assignment freely. It would be at least a year out of his life. "The informants have been buried inside the mob for sometime now…two, three years. We've just been waiting for the right opportunity."
"And I'm it," Woody said, an edge of bitterness in his voice.
"Not exactly that, son. But you have to admit, with them looking for a fresh, new face to run their business on the east side, who better than a former cop? Who else better than someone who knows the ins and outs of the department…and virtually everyone on the force?" Captain Freeman replied, softly. The cop part of the man wanted Woody to accept this case. But the father part of him…well, that was different. Freeman had a son close to Hoyt's age. And truthfully, if it was his son that was offered this position, Freeman would encourage him to turn it down for his own safety's sake.
But Freeman's son was married with two kids. Woody had no one. No wife, no kids, no father, no mother, no family. Not only was he in a perfect position to take this assignment, in the department's description, he was expendable. A term Freeman didn't like to use, but if Woody got hurt, or worse…who was there that would really be upset?
No one but perhaps that dark-haired ME that had moped around the hospital right after Hoyt had gotten himself shot. But even she hadn't been around for months. "We need an answer, son," Freeman said, his voice still quiet and even. "Because if you don't do this, we'll have to get someone who will…"
Woody stood and walked over to the window, staring across the street. The morgue was in plain sight, a stark reminder that if all did not go well on this assignment, he could end up on one of those cold, stainless steel tables…zippered in a body bag, in the crypt, waiting for Bug or Garret…or her to do his autopsy. He hid his shudder.
As much as he hated to admit it, the captain and Walcott were right. In the past six months, mob related deaths had increased…nearly doubled. The talk on the street was the old Irish mob was making a final stand against the European mobs that were beginning to muscle in on their turf. This could be the final stand. It could be very bloody.
And lots of innocent people could be hurt. He shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot.
He could say no. He could say no and walk out of that room and go back to his office and try to salvage what career he had left as a policeman.
He could turn in his badge, say "Fuck you," to the captain and Walcott, fly back to Kewaunne and join his Uncle David at the family dairy farm. His uncle had made the offer at Christmas, after Woody had flown back home for the holidays, so tired and gaunt that his family became increasingly worried about his mental and physical health.
Or he could accept this assignment. Bring some justice. Then decide if he wanted to remain a cop or not, because some days he was no longer sure. The quiet, scheduled life of a dairy farmer was sounding more damned appealing everyday. But not at the price of innocent citizens getting hurt. That much of the Wisconsin boy scout was still there. "I'll do it on one condition," he finally said, his voice just as quiet and even as the captains.
"What is it?" Walcott asked.
"That at the end of this assignment, I get full retirement benefits…"
"Retirement?"
"Yeah. When this is over, I'm leaving the force….I'm going home to Wisconsin."
The captain nodded. Freeman didn't blame Hoyt. At the end of this assignment, Wisconsin would be the best place for him. Somewhere quiet…somewhere that he could regroup…decide what else he wanted to do with the rest of his life. "Done. I'll write it up. We'll put everything into play on your next assignment."
Woody sighed again and walked to the door. "Just one more thing. My next assignment…I want Jordan Cavanaugh to be the answering ME."
"Dr. Cavanaugh? Why?" Freeman asked.
"Not a problem," Rene' answered quickly. She knew why Woody requested Jordan. If anyone would question why the detective dropped off the face of the earth, it would be the female ME. And if anyone would have to be convinced that this was Woody's choice and there was nothing anyone could do about it, it was Jordan.
Otherwise Dr. Cavanaugh might stir up too much trouble and blow Woody's cover.
"Good," Woody said, opening the door. "I'll be ready for everything the next time I hear that I have a homicide call and the answering ME is Jordan."
It happened the next week. There was a murder in the south part of Boston. Woody got the call…straight from Freeman himself. "Do what you need to, Hoyt," the captain said. "Then go home. I'll be over to see you later tonight. Don't go to bed until then."
"Yes, sir," Woody replied. Flipping his phone shut, he turned off his computer, locked his desk and grabbed his coat, pausing for a moment in the doorway, taking in his last glimpse of his office…chances are, if he ever did return here, it would be fleeting. A chance to pick up a few last mementos, maybe say good bye…all before his plane would take off to Milwaukee. Back to Wisconsin and a past he had tried to forgive and forget. He flipped the light switch off and closed the door, locking it with a click, also.
Fifteen minutes later, he found himself at the homicide sight…and true to Walcott's word, Jordan was the answering ME. Woody saw her get out of the morgue van. Damn…she never changes… he thought. Still beautiful…still able to get under his skin in a way no one else ever had. When this was all over, he knew he would owe her an explanation. He just hoped she would listen. Mentally he shook himself. Go do what you have to… "What have we got?" he barked at a black and white rookie.
"Double homicide, sir," the young man replied.
Woody grunted and walked over to where Jordan was already examining the bodies. "What can you tell me?" he asked her, keeping the customary curt edge to his voice.
"Hands tied behind them and single shot to the head. You tell me what that looks like," Jordan replied, not looking up at him. Woody had changed so much recently she had avoided working with him as much as possible. Still…it happened. Like this morning. She was the answering ME….she caught his call. She had steeled herself not to let him jerk her chain all the way over to the homicide sight.
"Mob hit…again."
Jordan nodded.
"Any clue who they are?"
"No ID. I'll get them back to the morgue and have Nigel run their dentals as soon as he can."
"You do that…and when you get an ID…if you do….let me know,"
"Believe me, I will," she replied, then turning to tell the van workers to load the bodies, al the while watching Woody out of the corner of her eye.
He had changed…so much over the course of the last year. From the shooting until now, she had saw her Farm Boy transform himself into someone she didn't know…a thin, shell of man, who for the most part remained emotionless…unless he was ranting in anger at someone. From Jordan's point of view, anger seemed to be the only emotion Woody was now capable of registering. Anger at everything and everybody.
Particularly her.
It seemed that on some level, he blamed her for the shooting. And on another level, he blamed her for her emotions. For loving him…or at least telling him when she did and the way she did.
She'd give him that much. Her timing sucked. But her emotions had been very real. Still were.
Only Woody had moved on…and in time, Jordan did, too. Seeing Danny McCoy and then JD Pollack…only to have both relationships eventually go up in smoke. While her body could respond to another man, her heart was still Woody's. And she had no idea how to get the thing back from him.
So in time, she had just given up. Stopped seeing anyone and waited on her heart to find its way home. Not that it ever had.
Which made working with him so very difficult. His tone of voice cut her to the quick. And her heart broke every time she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but disgust for her there.
No, Woody had changed…so much that she nearly wouldn't recognize him at all if she didn't already know him so well.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Jordan pulled out of her thoughts when she overheard Woody yell this at one of the other detectives on the call. "I didn't say to move that…" he was talking about one of the crime scene markers.
"Do you realize you have just corrupted an active crime scene?" Woody continued to rage at his fellow detective, grabbing him by the lapels and getting directly in the man's face. "Do you know what you have done?"
"Woody….calm down," Jordan said, trying to intervene in what was quickly becoming a tension-filled situation between Woody and the other detective.
"I will not…this dick-head has compromised a scene…"
"Detective…." One of the black and white uniform officers began. "If you're going to act this way, I'm going to have to ask you to stand down and leave."
"Stand down my ass…." Woody continued, his voice still loud and still hanging on to the other detective's lapels. "If everyone here is too incompetent to accurately process a crime scene then maybe I ought to get rid of every last one of you…"
"Detective," warned the uniformed officer again. "I'm asking you to…"
"To what? Get rid of the incompetents? I can do that…" Woody roughly shoved the other detective away from him. Then, to everyone's surprise, swung at the uniformed officer, the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh resounding through the crime scene.
Jordan swallowed the bile that kept trying to come up her throat as she vainly tried to keep her concentration on the body in front of her. After Woody had struck the officer, the next thing she knew, he was being handcuffed and led away to a police car. Woody's conduct was worse than planting evidence…worse than snitching on another policeman. He had struck a fellow officer who was only doing his job…and doing it well.
The interoffice gossip grapevine instantly became busy long before her shock had worn off enough for her to safely drive back to the morgue. By the time her feet had hit the sixth floor of the morgue she knew. Woody had been fired.
Fired for insubordination. There was no IA recourse or review. There had been too many witnesses. Including her. The once perpetually sunny detective had taken a physical pot shot at a fellow officer. A fellow-lower-ranked officer. Woody was fired. Removed from the roll of the Boston PD in ignominy. Not given a chance to give his side of the story…not that it would have mattered. Not asked to apologize and then resign.
He was fired.
Nigel had told her the news as soon as she got off the elevator. And to tell the truth, she hadn't been too surprised. She had been there. She saw and heard what had happened. She had tried to stop it.
And she had failed. Just like she had done with their relationship. She had failed him once again. She sighed and returned to the task at hand…her autopsy. I'll give him a few days to calm down, she thought. And then…I'll give him a call. Maybe he'll at least talk to me enough that I know he's okay… and try to find out what he's doing. I have some friends in security at Massachusetts Technologies. Maybe I can get him a job there…
Woody was pacing. He always paced when he was nervous or worried. And now he was a little of both. It was late…nearly midnight and he still hadn't heard a word from the captain. Then he nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at the door.
"Hoyt?" a voice called from the outside.
"Captain Freeman…" Woody opened the door with a measure of relief and apprehension. "Is the officer…"
"He's fine…just fine, Hoyt. A little bruised, a couple of loose teeth. You pack a mean right hook," Freeman chuckled, coming in and sitting down on Woody's couch, spreading out a file in front of him on the coffee table. "Here's everything…."
Woody sat beside him and looked over the papers as the captain continued. "This is the specs on the bar that you'll be operating out of…the Old Irish Rose. Our informants have already gotten you in. You're to meet with Little Johnny in three days. During that time, we'll be broadcasting to all the media, loud and long, how ashamed we are of you for taking a pot shot at that officer and that you have been fired from the force with no IA review. Your career as a law enforcement officer is over for good. No one anywhere will hire you…."
"You'll make that completely believable?"
"Walcott will go the distance on it…and so will I. This will make it easier for you with Little Johnny…he'll like it better if he thinks you have a vendetta against the force."
Woody nodded. All of that sounded good.
"And if anyone gets to sniffing around too much, your official file has been marked 'closed'. That you're fired. Your undercover file…that no one knows about but Walcott and I…that is now active. You answer only to me…is that understood?" Freeman asked.
"Yes, sir. It sounds secure."
"It's as secure as we can make it, Hoyt. We all want you to come out of this thing smelling like a rose. Then we can reveal how it was a set up for you to go undercover…"
Woody brushed the last comment aside with a wave of his hand. "That's all well and good, but what about the other stuff…"
"The retirement? It's all here, Hoyt. That and the account we will direct deposit your paycheck into." The captain shoved the other set of papers in front of Woody. "And then there's this…"
Woody looked at the new set of papers in front of him. He had asked Walcott to draw up a new will for him after he agreed to accept this assignment. Even though Woody knew every precaution would be taken to guarantee his safety, he was no fool. He knew what his outcome would be if the mob found out he was still a policeman…undercover with the Boston PD. He looked over the document…one that would give all of his meager earthly possessions to one person who still might have at least a soft spot somewhere in their heart for him – Jordan. It also made her his next of kin again…to make medical decisions for him should it become necessary and he was in no state to decide anything . She had done an excellent job before….his walking legs were proof of it. He had no doubt, that if the need should arise, she would do so again. He signed the papers without a second thought and handed them back to Freeman.
"You sure about this, son?" the captain asked, taking the papers out of Woody's hand.
"Yeah…I am…Jordan…"
"Not about that. About giving up police work altogether after this assignment is over."
Woody nodded. "I am. It's time…nothing's the same anymore."
Freeman looked the young detective in the eyes. He had heard of cases like this before. An officer gets wounded…nearly mortally…and police work looses its luster…personal relationships fall apart….and the officer crawls inside an emotional shell never to come out again. He didn't think Woody was at this point yet, but he was close. "Okay, son. Whatever you say. But I'll make it so you can return to the force if you ever decide to…this," he pointed to the pile of papers and the new case file for Woody, "is all smoke and mirrors. It's not your real life. And it's not the people that care about you."