“That makes sense. The mob has a reputation of brutality when it comes to vengeance,” she said.
Just how much had she dealt with mobsters in her capacity as a criminal psychologist?
“Was this the murder Dad was investigating?” He sure hoped not.
“I don’t know. Maybe not. There’s another name on the whiteboard. Jason Cain. I found an article about a man by that name. I don’t know if it’s the same man on the whiteboard, but since he was killed in a hit-and-run, that makes his death suspicious.” She shook her head. “In his seventies, he worked as a greeter at a big-box store down in South Carolina and was just out walking his dog when he was killed.”
Nathan scratched his head. “Okay. Let’s keep searching, and then we’ll see how they fit together. I have to say, I wish we hadn’t veered into mob territory.”
“The Irish Mob, to be more specific—especially in South Boston.”
“And you know this how?”
“I’m a quick study.” She smiled but kept her eyes on her iPad.
He pushed his plate aside and crossed his arms, leaning against the table. “And while some people think the mob died out years ago, it’s very much alive and well, though the ranks and numbers have diminished. Basically, the mob isn’t like it used to be since the Feds gutted them and so many of their ranks, including the crime bosses, have been imprisoned. But they’re like a hydra. Cut off its head and more rise up to take its place. I hear the mob is resurging.”
“Sounds like you’re a quick study too.”
“I read about the WITSEC program—the Witness Security Program run by the US Marshals—and how it all started. Protecting mob informants and witnesses was the only way to get those in the ranks of organized crime to tell the Feds what they’d seen. The only way to take down the criminals. They had to give the mob witnesses who turned on their own crime family entirely new identities. They could live out the rest of their days in a brand-new life.”
“A whole new life established in communities with unaware and innocent people,” she said. “A neighbor could be a past mobster, for all someone knows. Could have killed and dismembered someone.”
“Now there’s a nice image.” He tried to push that from his mind.
Her forehead crinkled. “But seriously, if someone was promised a new life in exchange for telling secrets, I can see how that could work. Otherwise, ratting out a mob family would certainly end in death for the snitch and for those closest to him.” She hesitated, drawing in a shaky breath. “Which brings me to this next name on your father’s crime board—Jamie McPherson. I’m sending you the article now.”
Nathan opened it on his cell and skimmed, finding a story similar to Jimmy Delaney’s—another mobster killed. “Okay, so Jamie McPherson is in prison, also in quarantine for his own protection from retaliation for killing a Watts family member.”
Erin’s mouth set in a grim line. “Another member of a crime family.”
“What about these other names, Cobbs and Byrne? Nothing is coming up for me when I search.”
“Same here. Too many names come up when I type that in. I need more information.”
“And looking up more on Jamie McPherson, it looks like he’s the mob boss, the head of the McPherson crime family.” Nathan was glad he had finished the steak first. “Is there any chance this has nothing to do with Dad’s shooting? That we could be completely off here?”
“We could be. But I don’t think we are.”
“Yeah. Me neither. But I don’t like this at all.” He wished they had never come to Boston.
She settled back against her seat as if measuring her words. “I worked with a neuropsychiatrist who had evaluated former gangsters. Mobsters who spent years in prison. He wrote a paper on it, so of course I was curious and asked questions. Those criminal minds in particular lacked remorse. They had such a deep loyalty to their ‘clan,’ that in their minds, murder was the normal way of things because they were helping their group, their people. Their blood ties, family roots. The power structure and established territory are all part of their culture.”
“In other words, kind of a brotherhood of psychopaths.”
Erin visibly shuddered. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Given what you’ve told me, what are you thinking about how this mob connection is related to my father’s shooting?”
“Someone came all the way to Montana to silence him—protect someone in the family—or to expose someone else. I think it could fit, that’s all.”
Nathan closed his eyes and breathed in a steadying breath and prayed a silent prayer. Please let this not have one single thing to do with the mob or the cartel or any evil organized crime group.
He’d wanted to solve a big case and—he would admit—be like his father. But Nathan hadn’t left Montana. Unlike his father, he couldn’t leave Mom. He guessed living in Montana, being a detective in a small county, had a silver lining, after all. He hadn’t had to deal too much with organized crime on this level.
And now he was working the case of his life—of his father’s life—against all the rules, and he realized he might not have the stomach for it.
But he would finish it.
Dad, please just wake up. He had the sense that time was running out for his father and for them to find out what they needed before they were shut down completely.
Unfortunately, he didn’t like the images of the many forms a “shutdown” could take.