Chapter 3
As Maura again drove through the older neighborhood in South Boston, she ignored much of her surroundings. This visit she paid no attention to the detail of landscaping throughout the neighborhood, particularly the home of Patrick Doyle. She failed to observe just how noticeable her BMW sports car was in a neighborhood that was occupied by people with moderate incomes and the traditional 2.5 children. She also failed to notice that, once again, a rather impressive and expensive lens was capturing her picture as she walked from her car to the front door of Patrick Doyle's house.
"I'm here to see him," Maura stated simply. She stared at the young man leaning against the door jam with a lopsided grin on his face. He seemed genuinely happy to see her; puzzling Maura since she felt she wasn't there on social terms. Uncertain of his motives, she carefully stepped inside of the house and toward the makeshift bedroom of Patrick Doyle.
"He should be expecting me," Maura offered, and then cringed as she noticed how she was fidgeting with the ring on her finger. It was a trait of her biological father's that she had noticed immediately when he came to identify the body of his son, Colin. While her science told her that it was a nervous habit and highly unlikely to be genetic, she silently admonished herself for exhibiting the same trait as an Irish mobster.
Maura instantly felt overwhelmed by the silence of the house. What little noise there was came from the area of the kitchen, tempting Maura to peek in that direction to see just how many people were in the house. Those who were in the house were so obviously the trusted few among many at Patrick Doyle's disposal. Maura instantly felt the weight of her decision as she was seemingly being grouped into Doyle's inner circle.
"He's been a bit out of it," the young man said, stepping aside for Maura to fully enter the room. "He's been sick too."
"Sick as in vomiting?" The man nodded and Maura walked closer to Patrick Doyle's bed. She placed her purse on the bedside table as she watched him open his eyes in a cloud of confusion. "Drink this." Maura held out a cup of water with a straw to aide Patrick in drinking; it was clear he was now becoming more alert by the look in his eyes. "It should help your throat."
Maura looked around; not much had changed in the past twenty-four hours in Patrick Doyle's house but certainly she felt as if her world had been turned upside down overnight. Maura studied Patrick Doyle as he struggled to sit upright; to remain stoic even through what Maura assumed to be a high pain level.
"How is your pain on a scale from one to ten?"
"Thirteen." Patrick flinched when Maura's cool hand touched his forehead to gauge his fever. "Always been my lucky number."
"That's an interesting belief since most of society believes the number thirteen to be very unlucky, even if that belief is based largely on superstition and mythology." Maura turned her wrist to see the face of her watch, placing her fingers over Patrick Doyle's pulse on his wrist. "It is, however, a persistent belief. Even in today's Christian teachings, you can see that the number thirteen is actually associated with negativity. Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus was considered the thirteenth guest at the Last Supper."
"That's why one should keep a trusted few around them and not double digit numbers of them."
"Is that how you work, Mr. Doyle?"
"I seem to have forgotten all of my catechism lessons, Dr. Isles." Patrick Doyle began to cough prompting Maura to give him another sip of water. "But I do appreciate the refresher on the Last Supper."
"Or is it a lesson in betrayal, which seems fitting at this moment."
Maura removed her fingers from Patrick's wrist and carefully laid his arm down on the bed next to him. She looked around the room for a pen and paper, but quickly noticed just how barren the room was.
"I need a pen and paper," Maura said, staring her father in the eye refusing to yield to his stare. "I need to keep track of your vitals and to be able to write my list of what I need. It wouldn't be prudent for me to track your vitals on a Boston PD piece of equipment so we'll have to do it the old way."
"Michael will help you with whatever it is you need." Patrick made eye contact with the young man who had answered the door. He nodded, as if giving Maura full reign over the young man's actions.
Patrick Doyle closed his eyes as Maura moved away, sitting between her father's hospital bed and the exit of the house. She ignored the many chairs that were closer to him, purposefully and carefully thinking through her movements.
"Is it always going to be so much strategy for you, Maura?" Doyle was staring at her again, his breathing labored.
"Your life is about strategy, is it not?" Maura countered as Michael handed her a pad of paper and a pen. "I'm going to use this pad to keep track of your vitals. Who should I train to do the same when I'm not here, it must be monitored hourly."
"Michael," Patrick Doyle stated calmly as he took deep breaths to relax and channel his physical pain.
"And to whom should I give my list of supplies?"
"Michael."
"Does Michael do all your bidding these days?" Maura instantly felt horrible for not acknowledging the young man's presence and she turned to face him. "Are you going to be the person that I deal with on a daily basis?"
Michael looked at Patrick Doyle for confirmation, his posture becoming an odd mix of confidence and relaxation.
"He's the son I never had," Patrick Doyle answered with a voice laced in disappointment.
"You had a son," Maura responded, her voice laced with anger. "Remember Colin who ended up on my autopsy table as a result of being your son?"
"Don't kid yourself, Maura; he wasn't a good kid like you are. Like I said back then, he was too much like his old man. That's what got him killed, the games and identity theft he got roped into, not because someone found out he was my son."
"I'll never understand your logic on family," Maura mumbled as she scribbled her notes down on the first sheet of paper. She flipped the page and began to work on her list of supplies; expense was no issue so she added things onto the list that she normally wouldn't ask for when caring for someone. If she was going to be blackmailed into this arrangement, she was determined to make it easier on herself with as many of the modern day conveniences as possible.
"It's actually quite simple how it works," Patrick coughed, breaking out into more of a sweat until he got control and took another sip of water to quiet the tickle that had returned. "You may think we're monsters but we live by a code, Maura. It's what keeps us alive and functioning."
"How nice for you."
Patrick instantly picked up on the blatant sarcasm dripping from Maura's voice.
Maura ripped off the list of supplies and handed it to an otherwise silent Michael and placed the notebook on her lap as she carefully considered what her next statement should be. "I find it odd that you like number thirteen; your disciples could easily betray you just as Judas did his leader. I should know up front if Michael is your Judas or your Peter?" Patrick stared at Maura contemplating his answer. "You're not the only one that has a lot riding on this arrangement as you called it. I could lose a lot if this arrangement is discovered, Mr. Doyle."
"Ask him," Patrick retorted gruffly. "He can actually speak."
Maura cringed at the tone he used, but his point was well taken. Maura had come to the realization in a few short moments that her behavior when in Doyle's presence was starting to mimic his behavior and it frightened her.
"I'm sorry, Michael," Maura offered as she held his gaze. "Regardless of who you work for, I should have realized that I behaving quite rudely. Please accept my apologies."
Michael looked over at Patrick Doyle struggling to stay awake and motioned for Maura to step out into the hallway with him to continue their discussion.
"He would keep fighting to stay awake if we were talking in there." Michael, for the first time since Maura had met him, offered her a warm smile. "He's not as strong as he likes to think."
Maura smiled back, despite herself, and continued to silently remind herself that she was among the Irish mob, some of the very people she worked hard on a daily basis to try to bring to justice.
"I know how much it means to him that you're here."
"I'm here to find out who my biological mother is." Maura struggled to keep the tone of her voice steady and confident, not laced with anger no matter how accurately that would describe her emotions. "I have to be honest and tell you that if it weren't for him holding that over my head I wouldn't be here. I don't have the same ties to him that you do."
"I understand." Michael had a slight accent, almost as if he had stepped into Boston from Ireland. "I owe Paddy a lot though. I won't bore you with the details of how he saved my life back in the day."
"How ironic that he can save a life but makes a career out of ending them." Maura looked around the hallway; there was no sign of pictures, personal effects, nothing that would tie Patrick Doyle to this house or anyone in it. "How long have you worked for him?"
"Long enough to know him better than you do." Michael watched as Maura continued her perusal of what she could see of the house.
"That may very well be, but you can't force someone into getting to know another. I'm here because the person I want to know is being held over my head." Maura looked around further down the hall before turning on her designer heel to face Michael once more. "You don't happen to know who my mother is do you?"
"If I did," Michael smiled as he tucked Maura's list into the back pocket of his jeans, "I wouldn't tell you. I know how much Paddy loves you, even if you don't feel it or know it yourself. He wants a chance to get to know you."
"I'm afraid I don't share your optimism at how well that will go." Maura glanced at the clock on the wall. She had been there entirely too long; she needed to go home and rest knowing what lay ahead for her. "I need to go, but when I come tomorrow, I'll need you to be here. I need to train you to take his vitals every hour; it's important for the medication and to monitor his health."
"I'll be here." Michael's smile was alarming; normal as if he could have been anyone on the street having a pleasant conversation with Maura. But he wasn't; he was the employee of one of the biggest Irish mob bosses.
"Give him these two pills with plenty of water." Maura handed over a Ziploc bag with a handful of the pills in it. "These are nonsterodial anti-inflammatory pills. When he takes these, please watch for side effects. He'll need something stronger and I've put it on the list."
"The something stronger is morphine, correct?"
"That's most commonly used to treat cancer patients. If he lasts, he'll likely develop immunity to it. But we'll cross that bridge once we get there. Right now I just need that list; make sure he takes these pills spaced out every four hours. It will help manage the pain since he let it get away from him in the first place."
"Until tomorrow then?"
Maura nodded to Michael as she gathered her purse and made a quick exit from the house. She dug in her purse for her keys, noticing the blinking light on her cellular phone to indicate she had a message.
She entered her car and locked the doors before taking her phone out and seeing the text message from Jane. It was meant in jest; one last effort to get Maura to join her for a drink. The message had been sent over thirty minutes ago and Maura knew any response would peak the detective's interest since she hadn't answered right away as she normally would have.
Finishing up here – tired and will take a rain check
Maura began to drive her car out of the neighborhood heading for home when the subsequent text message traveled across her screen.
You do realize that it's my job to catch inconsistencies in stories right?
Maura stopped at a red light and debated whether to tell Jane or not. It was such a strong pull to tell her what was going on, yet the fear of her judgment quickly derailed that thought.
Inconsistencies?
Maura waited for Jane's response; clearly this wasn't going to be as easy as she thought.
You left before me despite this mountain of paperwork on your desk. You didn't take it with you.
Maura gave up the text game and quickly dialed Jane's number as traffic began to move once more.
"Hello?" Maura rolled her eyes as Jane's tone implied that she had no idea who would be calling her.
"I'm on my way home, Jane," Maura turned her car toward the other side of town and balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear to continue the conversation while placing two hands on the wheel.
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
"Don't tease, Jane," Maura said as she maneuvered through traffic and focused on the driving conditions and not her annoyance with Patrick Doyle. "In all seriousness I'll take a rain check on warm malt beverages?"
"It isn't about the warm malt beverage that you just haven't tried enough to actually appreciate. It's the fact that you declined a night out with me for paperwork that you're not actually doing. What gives, Maura?"
"I was helping a sick…" Maura knew she couldn't lie. She didn't want to say friend knowing Patrick Doyle held no place in her heart. She couldn't very well tell Jane that it was Patrick Doyle, Jane would immediately insist that she stop and likely arrest her biological father before he would confess to Maura who her mother was and where she could find her. She stammered, finally deciding on the safest route to prevent her hyperventilating. "I was helping someone who is sick, Jane. I needed to check in on them."
Something in the sound of Maura's voice touched Jane's heart. It wasn't her words, although plausible, that gave Jane pause. So she waited for Maura to fill the silence she created, a tried and true interrogation technique that worked well for Jane.
"I would love to see you, honestly, but I'm just tired from having worked on paperwork all day and having not made a dent. It's been a really long day. I'll take a rain check on the malt beverage, but never on the company." Maura began pulling down her street when she slowed to a complete stop before making it to her driveway. Noticing the card in her driveway, her heart began beating and she licked her lips in anticipation of what was to come.
"Good thing I'm at your house keeping Ma company then," Jane replied as she walked by the window and saw Maura's car stopped in the street. "I'll see ya in a few and we can talk more about your paperwork."