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Southie.”
    “Thanks,” Flaherty said. “You just summarized my last memo.”
    “Like I said, I don’t have anything you don’t already know.”
    Just then the door to Farmalant’s office banged open. Detective Tom Kozlowski stood at the threshold. He was short and squat, but powerfully built. It looked for a moment like he wasn’t going to get his shoulders through. As usual, his graying hair was mussed and his collar was crooked. A thick, ugly scar ran from the corner of his left eye halfway down his cheek. He was an old-school cop in every way, and he and Flaherty had been partners for three years. His skill at the job kept him on the force, but his temperament kept him from advancing. Since they’d been partnered together, Flaherty had been promoted twice, while Kozlowski had remained a detective sergeant.
    “I’ve got something for you,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly from four decades of cigarettes. He seemed tired in that immovable sort of way that comes only after cops reach twenty years on the force and have locked in their pensions. It gives them a certain resistance to the pressures that bear down on them on a daily basis. Kozlowski had passed his twenty years more than half a decade ago. “I had the tech guys put a rush on Jane Doe’s fingerprints.”
    “Did we get lucky?” Flaherty was leaning forward in the plush leather chair now.
    “Sort of. I guess it depends on your point of view.”
    “Let me guess,” the medical examiner interrupted. “Numerous arrests for solicitation? Maybe one or two for indecent exposure or disturbing the peace, right?”
    “Close, but not quite, Doc.” Kozlowski looked at Flaherty, hesitant to reveal his information in front of Farmalant, who wasn’t technically on the task force.
    “Well?” Flaherty prodded.
    “Actually, she was in the FBI database.”
    “FBI?” Farmalant raised an eyebrow.
    “Yeah.” Kozlowski nodded grimly. “Turns out she was once a federal prosecutor.”
    “She was
what
?” Flaherty almost fell out of the comfortable leather chair.
    Kozlowski nodded. “Unless the system is completely screwed up, the lady lying on that table is former assistant United States attorney Natalie J. Caldwell.”
    Flaherty took a deep breath, blowing it out through puffed cheeks in a massive sigh. “Aw shit,” she said finally.
    “Yeah,” Kozlowski agreed. “Shit.”

Chapter Five
    F INN HAD NO IDEA where the day had gone. He’d started reading deposition transcripts in one of his cases, and by the time he looked up it was after three.
I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun
, he thought with a note of sarcasm. Sadly, there was nothing fun about what he was reading. There, in front of his eyes, was the testimony that would likely send one of the firm’s clients to jail. It was a securities fraud case, and the firm was representing one of the principals at a Fortune 500 company, the stock value of which had fallen eighty-five percent in five months. The particular executive they were representing, Paul Miller, had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar—up to his elbow, actually—trading on insider information as his company crashed around his feet.
    Rich people baffled Finn. Miller had stashed away tens of millions of dollars already, and management had created enough golden parachutes for everyone in the upper echelons. Even if the company flew straight into the ground, Miller was sure to land gently in the middle of his ten-acre estate on Martha’s Vineyard, where he could spend the rest of his days living in luxury off the interest in his holdings. Apparently, that hadn’t been enough. When Miller saw the writing on the wall, he began dumping his company holdings. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also shorting the stock, making millions by betting that the company’s stock would go down. It wasn’t just criminal; it was criminally stupid. Finn shook his head.
How could he have possibly thought he