The black-and-whites had already cordoned off the crime scene, and I could see Doc taking one last look at the victim before loading him into the ambulance. An Officer Bryant walked up and guided me through the small crowd of onlookers and press that were gawking at the goings on. The train stations in Boston have always been gathering spots for that second population that comes out at night in any big city.
Officer Bryant looked like a mid-career fellow who always showed up for work, never distressed his higher-ups, but also never impressed anyone either. I was impressed that he had the gumption to whisper to me as Captain Galloway approached, "Lieutenant, you smell like alcohol, sir."
Although I didn't really care all that much what Galloway might think, I did strike it a bit lucky. Galloway was more sauced than I was. Apparently he had been losing at a late night poker game in the upstairs room over Maxie's Tavern.
Galloway brushed away Officer Bryant and then proceeded to fill me in. "MacKenzie, they found this in his pants pocket." He slipped the note to me.
The note was written in pencil in a rather rough handwriting.
"Mr. Flanagan. I met with Lt. McKenzie of BPD today. Keep an eye on him and give me a full account of who he sees. I'll meet you at the usual place, Friday 2:00. JEB"
I tried to get my half-pickled thinker going, "JEB? It's gotta be Blake from the law office. Sure, he'd be handling security for all of this."
Galloway pressed on, "Who's JEB, MacKenzie?"
Some instinct kicked in and I answered, "Not sure, Captain.'
"Well, MacKenzie, you better figure it out quickly. Sounds like to me that someone is having you do his work for him. Watch your backside ... literally."
He paused and began to walk off, but then returned, "In fact, MacKenzie, I think I'll have someone watch it for you."
With that he left and he left me with the idea that someone else had been talking to him about this case.
"Hey, Doc. What do ya got, anything?"
"D*mn, Mac Kenzie. What happened? Did you fall into the bottle?"
'Yea, yea. Again, you got anything for me."
Doc gave me a rather smirk, "You might say that. It looks like a pro carried out a bit of business. Three taps, again. The cabbie didn't even move. Found him sittin' up. The patrolmen said that his cash box was gone, his wallet was gone, but he had two twenty dollar bills in his other pocket and they weren't touched."
Doc continued, "It's all too tidy. Street thugs, they are always in a hurry, especially here in a public parking lot. Whoever did this was cool as a cucumber. He took his time."
"Doc, that's pretty good."
"And MacKenzie, I found a little something else when I was working with the body. Beneath his seat." Doc reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out something in one of his evidence bags. "Lady's eyeglasses and on the inside of inside of the frame, an engraved M. O'HARA."
I took the bag, unfolded it and then opened it. There they were, light gray eyeglasses. Expensive and fashionable. "You best give them to the crime scene guys, Doc. You're not suppose to be taking evidence from a crime scene."
He chuckled a bit but gave me the look that says, "Yea, right."
As I checked over the rest of Cab 49 and the remains of old man Flanagan, I kept thinking about what Flanagan had said about some limo dropping Miss Yellow Roses of that night. Was he lying or was he being set up?