Chapter Four

Scotch, Max, and Cold Cases

Well, if that wasn't kick in the …head or ass, Jordan couldn't tell. It was actually her heart that hurt the most after that encounter. Leighanne. Woody. Domestic bliss in a Boston PD detective office. She sighed.

Leighanne was blonde, pretty, willowy…and sweet. God knows Jordan would never invite her boyfriend's….whatever she was with Woody – in for pizza. Jordan sighed again. She guessed it was true. Woody had moved on with his life. Found himself another woman…one completely different from her.

She should be glad for him…especially after the emotional roller coaster ride she put him through over the years. He deserved stability. He deserved happiness. He deserved to be loved.

But did she deserve being rejected the way she was? She knew her timing had been awful. But no one had ever said she had impeccable punctuality. And she wanted him to hear what her heart had to say. Don't leave me…I do love you, Woody.

She had meant every word. And he had soundly rejected her. Pushed her out of his life, slammed the door to his heart, and threw on the deadbolt. Other than catching a few of his calls here and there, she never saw Woody any longer.

And now she knew the personified reason why. Leighanne.

Jordan lowered her head, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and walked across the street to her El Camino, the events of the last few minutes still swirling around in her head. She rested her head on the steering wheel a few moments before starting her truck and heading out into the Boston five o'clock traffic. When Woody had begun to pick her brain about this case, she knew it was going to be difficult on her because it involved the three men in her life she had issues with. The first and foremost being her father. God knows they had enough issues to open their own magazine publishing company.

But then there was Eddie. A man from her deep past she had seen several times since their break up, but not in recent years. Eddie had moved to Springfield. She hadn't seen him in …. What….four or five years? Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she tried to catch up on the time that had flown by. Eddie hadn't stuck around very long in Boston after Jordan had given him his packing papers and Woody began to circle her romantic radar as a faint blip on the screen.

Now Eddie would have to be contacted and would probably have to return to Boston. Jordan had idly wondered several times over the years how he was doing – whenever she would pick up an old case file with his name on it or pass by his former office in the precinct. She never called to see….and Eddie had never called her after he moved. When he had left, she attended his good-bye party. They had hugged awkwardly and Eddie had whispered in her ear, "I still love you, Jo. If you ever need me, I'm as close as the phone. Do you hear me?"

She had nodded, still a little too emotional to talk. She had lightly touched his cheek with her lips, hugged him again, and left the man she would have sworn at one time she was destined to marry. Instead, as soon as she had found out Eddie had ratted out her father, Jordan had put him to the curb. At the time she felt justified. After all, Max was her father.

Later though, as the years slipped by, she realized just how justified Eddie had been….especially after her father's behavior came to light. She had thought about calling him then….apologizing one more time…telling him that he had been right all along.

But she hadn't.

So now she was peripherally involved in an old case with three men that had all broken her heart in different ways. She chuckled bitterly to herself as she pulled into the Sav-Way parking lot to pick up some groceries. How much more lucky could she get?

Woody nervously tapped his foot against the floor of a seedy, out-of-the-way bar on the wharf. Max had sent word through Jordan that this was where he would meet the detective. And Woody could see why Max would have chosen such a place….off the beaten path…secluded. Off the sights of anyone who may be looking or gunning for a Boston detective and an informant.

"Want another beer, honey?" asked the waitress…a washed-out blonde, well past her prime.

"No. I think some Scotch may be more in order," said a voice behind her. "Johnnie Walker….please." The waitress nodded and went to comply. Woody stood and greeted Max.

"Mr. Cavanaugh…."

"Max. We've been through too much for you to call me Mr. Cavanaugh, son."

Evidently Jordan hasn't told him we're not talking right now…Woody thought and nervously pulled at his collar. "Max….how have you been?"

"Good. You've recovered from your injuries?"

Jordan did tell him about that… "Yes, sir."

"Fully?"

Woody nodded.

"Feelin' good? Everything functioning?"

Woody felt the irritation grow under his collar again. "Yes, sir. Why?"

"Because you're going to need everything you've got….and everything I've got….and everything Eddie has… to pull this all together, solve the case, and get the bastards behind bars that belong there. And then they need to….they'll have to….stay there. Do you understand?"

Max's tone of voice held a note that Woody had never heard out of him before. Not even through Malden and all of that deadwood. It was a tenor of fear…remorse….and raw determination that Woody had never felt come out of the older man. The fear especially. Max had his full attention now. "Yes, sir," he replied again.

"Show me what you got, Woody." Woody slid the case file across the table and sat silently sipping his Scotch as the older man put on his glasses and read through his old police file and then read Woody's newer one involving Charles Campbell. "Interesting…interesting." Max slipped his glasses off and shoved them in his shirt pocket. "All I got to say, Woody, is that if all the dots connect, you've got yourself one hell of a case.

"The Rosens…Me and Eddie knew it was a mob hit the minute we began to investigate. Winslow was a little slower to come around….he was new and green, then…but once we saw the bullet was dug out of Mr. Rosen's head…that pretty much cinched it. All the years I had been on the force…and the toughest mob I had to deal with was Blackie Conroy. Not that Blackie wasn't bad enough, God rest his soul….but with home-grown mobs, you knew who you were dealing with and just how bad they are. There were also some areas that were sacred to them…Whenever I had to deal with Blackie, as long as I was honest with him….didn't try to trick him…or pin something on one of his men that they didn't do…I was safe…my family was safe.

"Then these Russians began to move into Boston during the late eighties and early nineties. Different group of folks. Where as Blackie and the Irish mob would try to bully you first into doing what they wanted….these guys would just as soon kill you as look at you. Family…honor….meant nothing to them. They were solely after the bottom line. There is honor among thieves, Woody. And these guys had no honor. They were ruthless…."

Woody was silent for a moment. "So….what set them off? All I can come up with from your old case file and talking the Campbell….and picking Jordan's brain, is that this hit seemingly came out of nowhere….and was just as quickly swept under the rug. She can't remember you even talking about it again…you or Eddie either one…or even answering her questions about the case …"

"Leave Jordan out of this," Max said so sharply that Woody's eyes grew big. The older man looked agitated for a moment. Then lowering his voiced and leaning closer across the table, he spoke again. "Like I said. I knew it was a hit. And when I had it confirmed with a mole I had in the Irish mob, it began to make sense…too much sense." Max paused and swallowed the rest of the Scotch in his glass, letting the burn of the whiskey calm his nerves and loosen his tongue. "I knew the Irish mob never dug bullets out of their victims. They mimicked the New York Italian mobs….a touch to the head….and leave the scene. My informant told me as much…that they would never stop at a scene long enough to dig a bullet out of a body….they'd stop and pick up casings, sure, but never try to find a bullet.

"What he did tell me…scared the hell out of me. It seems Rosen was working both sides of the street. He was an attorney for the Irish mob. He had helped them launder racket money into real estate in South Boston for over twenty years. The Russian mob wanted in on the action. So our friend Rosen decides that greed is his new motivation, not survival. In return for a large cut from the Russians, Rosen would rat out the Irish mob.

"The only problem was that the Russians said no. So now…trailing back up the other side of the street, Rosen goes to Blackie and tells them what he knows about the Russian mob…that these new immigrants want South Boston for their own and was ready to boot Blackie and his boys out. Rosen tells Blackie he can be helpful in controlling the Russians…but for a larger fee than he was being paid to launder their dirty money.

"Great idea….except that Blackie refused to play Rosen's game. He cuts him off completely. Tells Rosen he'll get someone else to clean up his racket money….So left with no income to support his lifestyle…and a hot, new, third wife with expensive tastes, he does the only thing he can do…"

"Turn informant with the FBI…" Woody concluded softly, the case beginning to add up in his head.

"You got it," Max said, leaning back in the booth. "That was my hunch…my theory."

"Then why isn't it in your file?"

Max shut his eyes and sighed. He had sincerely hoped that this case was buried….so deeply it would never see the light of day again. But like the rest of the lies in his life he had tried to hide, this one came glaring to the surface, too…endangering the people he loved and cared about.

Sighing heavily again, he continued. "My informant…the mole in the Irish mob…wouldn't confirm or deny my suspicions. He did warn me….in the strongest of terms…to leave the case the hell alone. Through my years in the force, me and this guy had built a solid friendship….and the mole had enough ties to know what he was talking about. He told me that not only did the Irish mob know about my dealings with Cahill, but so did the Russian mob. It was in my very best interests that I not only left the case alone, but buried it deep.

"I was younger then Woody. Still full of myself and brass. I thought to myself, hell no…I'm not leaving this one alone…and then these started arriving regularly at my office." Max pulled a thick packet from his jacket pocket and slid them across the table to Woody. "Open that and then tell me what you would have done."

Woody carefully lifted the flap of the thick manila envelope and took out a stack of pictures….pictures of a younger Jordan…with her dad…..driving her car….jogging through the park, coming out of the dorm at UMass….Jordan with Eddie Winslow? Woody swallowed hard….Jordan and Eddie holding hands at the North End…coming out of a restaurant…going into an apartment together…

"How…how often did you get these?" he asked Max through dry lips.

"Sometimes once a week….sometimes several times a week. Eddie and I both wanted to go after these guys, but we both agreed that risking Jordan's life made it a non-issue. I wanted to protect my daughter and so did Winslow."

"Did Jordan ever know?"

"No…neither Eddie nor I wanted to frighten her. We just kept a closer eye on her…and with Jordan that's sometimes not easy." Max chuckled as he remembered. "She kept wanting to know why I needed her to come home from school every weekend. Why I called her six times a day and kept admonishing her to be careful.

"It was easier with Eddie. He and Jordan were dating….although both of them went out of their way to keep that little fact from me. I had the 'blue-boundary' up at my house since Jordan turned fifteen. A hell of a lot of good it did me…Eddie knew that…that I didn't want my little girl dating cops…so they tried to keep it from me. A lot of good that did them. I knew from the minute Eddie came back to work one afternoon and his jacket carried the scent of Jordan's perfume…." Max smiled at the memory of a twenty-something Jordan in love for the first time. "So when Eddie paid her closer attention…showing up at the university at odd times….holding her hand…pulling her close….walking her to classes occasionally, she thought nothing of it….thought he was just showing her his true feelings….which he was. That part of this case was no hardship for Eddie. God, the boy loved her…the extra time with her was heaven for him."

"So when did it stop – the pictures, I mean. When did you stop getting them in the mail?"

"Eddie and I threw up a flare that we were getting ready to close the books on it and bury the case. Shortly after that, the pictures stopped coming."

"And everything went back to normal?"

"Pretty much. Of course, Eddie and Jordan still dated. They dated several years…until Eddie reported me…" Max's face grew distant at the memory. Jordan had been loyal to her father. "She chose family over love, Woody," Max said softly. "If she hadn't…if she had gone with her heart then, I'd probably be a grandfather several times over…instead of waiting on you and her to make up your minds…" Max looked at Woody hopefully.

He knew it was time to come clean with the older man…"Ah, no…sir. Jor and I…well, right before the shooting things sort of went south with us…and ah….ah…we're not exactly….uh…"

"You're not seeing each other right now," Max said flatly.

"Uh…no."

"Okay, Hoyt….then I'm going to spell it out for you. I don't want my little girl in danger this time, either. Jordan is still pretty much oblivious to the details of this case. And I want it kept that way for her own safety. No matter what you're feelings are towards Jordan now, don't drag her into this, Hoyt. I heard that you told her to get out of your life while you were in the hospital. I also heard you hurt her like hell. I don't care what you think of her or feel for her….just protect her, do you understand?

"You need to call Winslow in on this, too. I have his number," Max fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and crammed it in Woody's outstretched hand. "You need him here. Jordan needs him here. If my memory serves correctly, once you start digging around, the Russians may very well target Jordan again…she's the link between all three of us, and despite whatever feelings she has for either you, me, or Winslow…it won't take them long to figure out that we all three still have feelings for her. Makes her the perfect bull's eye for any manipulation they would like to plan.

Eddie can and will help you keep an eye on Jordan. He'll be glad to. He's in Springfield, but I've already told him about all of this. He's waiting for your call."

It was well-past midnight when Woody had finally told Max good bye and drove back towards his apartment, where he knew Leighanne was probably still sitting up for him…waiting on him to come home despite his admonishments for her to go to bed. He ran a hand down his tired face as he continued to digest what Max had told him.

The problem was he was now connecting this hit with several other homicides across Massachusetts that were missing a bullet that had been dug out of a body. The inquiry he had posted on the internet had yielded him a half a dozen similar cases. The files were arriving daily via snail-mail.

If this was true…if it all panned out…Jordan could indeed be in more danger than she realized. Woody knew Max didn't want her to know anything…but if he kept hanging around her…she'd want to know why. And Jordan was far too bright not to notice if Woody put an undercover on to her as a tail.

He sighed as he parked the car. As much as he hated to admit it….Winslow might be his best bet in keeping her safe, depending on how well Jordan took to him coming back to Boston for a while. His gut tied itself in a responding knot.

He had never known before tonight that Jordan and Eddie had such an intimate past. So if the wind had blown right, she could be Mrs. Eddie Winslow now. He shook his head. He would have never guessed.

Hell…he would have never wanted to. Despite the years and distance between himself and Jordan, he couldn't see her belonging to anyone but him….Woodrow Wilson Hoyt. Eddie returning to Boston might correct this vision.

Woody doubted it. And he'd bet any money the knot that was tightening his gut wasn't because of too much Scotch.

It was jealousy.