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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (11/18)

Chapter 11: In the Name of the Law

After the media helps expose the truth about Boston’s corruption and crime, Eddie Winter finally comes out of hiding. On the steps of the courthouse, while waiting for an indictment to be brought down, the city’s crime-lord attempts one last coup, but Nick intervenes. Later, while Madelyn and her partner discuss the future of the agency, Deacon appears with a lead on an old cold case.

“In the name of the law.” - Inspector Karl Lohmann as played by Otto Wenicke (M, 1931)

Because of spoilers recapped in the first paragraph, the entire chapter is under a cut.

[read on Ao3] x [chapter masterpost]

April 21st, 1958

“I don’t like this.”

Clutched in Piper’s hand was the Sunday edition of Publick Occurrences—the previous day’s bombshell announcement that the District Attorney was moving forward with a grand jury trial against Eddie Winter after pressure from Chief Sergeant Danny Sullivan. That, and an exposé from Buster Connolly from the Boston Bugle—a listing of every corrupt cop, lawyer and government official that had been in Winter’s pocket and had worked to cover up the crime family’s business operations for years. More than that, it explicitly placed the blame of Jennifer Lands’ murder on the police—they had known about the holotapes and Eddie Winter’s recorded threats and had chosen to do nothing. Now, it was in the court’s hand. That was the good news. The bad news?

Eddie Winter had yet to show himself.

Madelyn stood on the courthouse steps, underneath the umbrella clasped in Deacon’s hand. Fitting, that on this day of reckoning, Mother Nature saw fit to bring down her wrath. Even though their partnership—relationship—had been mended, he kept his hands from her—now was not the time to give Piper any ideas. Though, knowing the reporter and the way she continued to flash them curious expressions, her head was already full of them—but now was not the time.

“I know,” Madelyn responded, digging her hands deeper into her coat pockets, desperate to keep warm. She looked over to where Piper was staring down the gathering of newshounds, barricaded off in the plaza near the street. Together, they were all waiting on bated breath for news of an indictment.

“What if the jury’s been rigged?” she asked, twisting her umbrella in an anxious gesture. “Can we really trust these guys to get the job done?”

“You can’t trust everyone,” she replied, noting the small pull at Deacon’s lips. These were the same lawyers that had booted her from the District Attorney’s office, handing her off to Valentine’s Detective Agency because of her fairer sex—but as far as Sullivan was convinced, they weren’t dirty—just jerks. “But there’s enough evidence that you’d have to be blind not to indict.”

Piper nodded, but her frown persisted. “Even with a grand jury indictment and arrest warrant in hand, Sullivan would still have to find the bastard.”

“Speak of the devil,” Deacon mumbled, gesturing with his free hand towards the crowd.

Madelyn had barely registered his words over the media’s simultaneous excitement, voices yelling and cameras clicking as reporters clamored to get a clear photo of the newest arrival to the courthouse—Eddie Winter himself. Surrounded by four bodyguards and one well-dressed man that was obviously his lawyer, the mobster gradually made his way up the courthouse steps. He was wobbling ever-so-slightly, clearly still suffering from the gunshot wound she’d inflicted upon him just a week prior. As his entourage approached she reflexively bristled, biting her tongue in frustration at the fear that crept up her spine. Deacon gripped her elbow, touch softening to support her as Winter stopped to stand before her. The faded bruises on her neck burned under his evil stare.

“Miss Hardy,” he greeted.

She glanced to his side, stone-faced. “How’s the stomach?”

He let out a low growl, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “I should ‘a killed you when I had the chance.”

“Likewise,” she replied. Deacon’s grip on her arm tightened, and while she appreciated the subtle show of his anger towards Winter’s threats, she could handle herself. If anything, she was emboldened. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here. The minute that indictment comes down, you’ll find yourself in a pretty set of bracelets. I’ll give you a hint, they aren’t from Tiffany’s.”

“Oh, they’ll be no verdict today, sweetheart,” he grinned, his bodyguards instantly mimicking his amusement. “Not on my watch.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” he continued, laughing softly to himself. “I got the whole city in my pocket, the judge, the jury—don’t matter how many of my men you take out of the precinct, there’s always someone that gets left behind.”

Almost immediately, Piper’s hopeful expression dropped, though Deacon remained skeptical. Madelyn didn’t budge. She didn’t want to believe it—so she didn’t it. Eddie Winter was bluffing, and she knew it. This was just one last gamble, one last intimidation tactic against a foe he thought he could outplay.

“Even now, I see my good friend the police commissioner coming down to give me the good news—”

Madelyn turned so she could keep him in her sights, glancing over her shoulder to spot not only the commissioner but Sergeant Sullivan and a few members of his task force following behind. Confusion muddled her mind—she had just read the commissioner’s name in Buster Connolly’s report the previous day. Only when she realized the commissioner was in handcuffs, head hung low as he was escorted to the patty wagon on the street.

Winter’s expression faltered. “The fuck—”

“As I was saying,” Madelyn continued, resisting the urge to smile at the obvious anxiety in his gestures.

Sergeant Sullivan and his officers soon surrounded Winter and his bodyguards, ensuring Madelyn and her colleagues were separated by the uniformed men. He pulled a folded document from his jacket pocket, handing it off to a detective with an umbrella to keep it dry.

“Edward Winter, this is a warrant for your arrest,” he explained, loud enough so that the reporters in the crowd could hear. “You are under arrest for first degree murder, conspiracy to commit murder, racketeering, bribery, and fraud.”

He held up the metal handcuffs, and Madelyn had to give it to Danny for asking the dumbest, or bravest question to the mobster’s face. “Will you come with us quietly?”

Eddie Winter was defiant as ever. “The hell I will.”

He backed away, the bodyguards making a path for him on the stairs for a quick escape. As soon as he turned around, however, he froze, surprised by the sight of the man at the bottom of the courthouse steps.

“Nowhere to run, Winter.”

Nick Valentine—alive and vengeful as ever. Madelyn was alarmed to see him standing there—he should still be in the hospital, recovering from the gunshot wounds inflicted from Winter. Then again, it wasn’t surprising that Nick hauled himself to city hall after learning about the grand jury, taking a gamble that Winter would show himself to the world and he’d have the chance to face him down once again. Her biggest fear, however, was that his lust for revenge would cloud his mind and he’d forget that he couldn’t just kill the man in broad daylight. Even if that man was Eddie Winter.

A stand off in the rain.

Nick slowly climbed the steps—steady and calm without a flicker of fear in his features. If anything, he was smiling, bright green eyes shining as they remained locked on his prize. Winter, meanwhile was shaking, frantically turning one way or another as he looked for a way out. To both sides were officers and the media, and behind him was Sullivan, offering the shackles. As Nick said—there was nowhere to run.

A desperate man always made desperate actions.

In one swift motion, Winter pulled the .44 pistol from his jacket and arced it towards Nick, finger squeezed around the trigger.

The detective was faster.

A single gunshot echoed through the plaza, the noise amplified by the sound of scurrying feet as people simultaneously rushed to get away and come closer for a better look. In the chaos, Madelyn couldn’t see a thing, blinded by the flashing lights of camera bulbs. Deacon yanked her aside, holding her tightly—protectively—to his chest as he surveyed the crowd, waiting, listening for another gunshot. Sullivan’s officers tackled Winter’s bodyguards to the ground, he lawyer tripping down the stairs as he tried to escape. A minute—five minutes? Madelyn wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when the panic settled just enough, there was only one victim.

Eddie Winter’s body lay on the pavement, crumpled across the stone steps of the courthouse, motionless. Blood seeped out onto the cobblestone beneath him, swept away by downpour of rain. Sullivan was the first to move, kneeling down to check the man’s pulse—he shook his head, staring up at the group before glancing to Nick.

It was over.

Eddie Winter was dead.

Nick stood back, expressionless, and looked towards the statue of Lady Justice in the plaza. “Long time coming.”

April 22nd, 1958

That rainy, Tuesday evening was the first time Madelyn had returned to the Valentine Detective Agency in over a week. The last time she had been in the offices had been before her and Nick made the fateful decision to go after Eddie Winter—back when their working relationship was as strong as ever, back when he hadn’t been shot—back when Jenny was still alive.

A lot could happen in ten days.

Ellie had kept the office open, mostly to field the incoming calls and solicitations from news agencies. The agency had seen a lot of foot traffic since word of Nick’s hospitalization and Jenny’s death got out—daily visitors stopping by with bouquets of flowers and sympathy cards—proof that the community he had served for so many years still supported him, and hadn’t forgotten about his plight. Even Vadim had shown up with a cask of freshly fermented moonshine, weeping endlessly into a delicately embroidered handkerchief until Yefim had to escort him back to the Dugout Inn.

That Tuesday, however, was quiet. Nick had returned to the office after the events at the courthouse and being cleared by the District Attorney, informing everyone that if they wanted to find him that’s where he’d be. While it was refreshing to know the agency wouldn’t be prosecuted for their involvement in stopping Eddie Winter, Nick’s behavior was troublesome. Madelyn knew better than anyone that he needed time to mourn—it was time to heal.

Public Occurrences Special Edition—Winter vs. Valentine: A Detective’s Hunt for Cold Justice Finally Ends

“Piper delivered it this afternoon,” Ellie explained with a grim smile. “Her proudest work yet. Produced in record time. Limited copies, she said.”

“Piper thinks they might sell for a fortune one day,” Ellie softly laughed, rolling her eyes. “Wanted Nick to frame his copy, but…Here.”

Madelyn looked over the newspaper the blonde handed her. Apparently, the detective had other ideas, leaving the print with their receptionist so he wouldn’t have to look at the headline, or the perfectly timed photo of gunning Eddie Winter down on the courthouse steps.

“Will you talk to him?” Ellie asked next, in a whisper as she stole a quick glance to his office. “He needs a break. We all do.”

“Yes,” Madelyn answered, though she wasn’t sure how convincing she could be. She read over the newspaper again as she walked towards Nick’s ajar door.

Sure, Boston’s notorious crime-lord was dead, and his hold on the city was no more. The police corruption had been exposed and was painstakingly being cleaned up by Sergeant Danny Sullivan and his task force. Nick Valentine—in the public’s eye—the detective was a hero for putting Winter down once and for all. But at what cost?

Their so so-called victory felt hollow.

Madelyn loitered in the doorway of Nick’s office, unsure if she had the right to enter. She hadn’t spoken to him since visiting the hospital, the same day she told him Jenny was dead. He had understandably lashed out, placing the blame on her—she had done the same, and still held a considerable amount of regret—wondering if her past actions could’ve resulted in a different outcome. No amount of reassuring words from Piper, Deacon or any other person in her close knit-circle would convince her otherwise—not until she cleared the air with Nick himself. So, she lingered there, chewing at her bottom lip until it was raw, fumbling with the newspaper in her hands.

“Hey doll,” he spoke, not lifting his head from the mess of files and paper on his desk. “You going to stand there all day, or help an old man out?”

She hesitated, noticing the hint of sarcasm in his tone and the flash of a smirk that pulled at his lips. It harkened back to a familiar banter they used to share, but she was still uncertain. Slowly, she entered his office, eyeing the two armchairs but decided to stay standing before his large, oak desk. Nervously, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’re hardly an old man, Nick.”

He sighed, flicking his gaze up to her. His light green eyes were bloodshot, dark circles from an obvious lack of sleep. “I think I’ve added a decade or two in the last week,” he replied. “That or lost some off the back end.”

Madelyn didn’t know what else to say, “I’m sorry.”

Nick was quick to respond, shaking his head as he pushed himself up to stand. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“But I do,” she insisted, even as he rounded the desk to approach her. Before she could stop them, tears started flowing down her cheeks and she used a free hand to wipe at her eyes, ashamed for shedding them in front of him. “F—for everything. If I had just shot Winter—”

“Stop—”

Nick’s voice was more stern than she expected, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other gently petting at her hair as he angled her head back to look at him. She sniffled, struggling to keep her eyes locked on his.

“What’s done, is done,” he sighed. “If there’s anything that Jenny taught me, it’s to live life with no regrets. Even…” he took in a shaky breath and Madelyn saw the haze of tears in his eyes. “Even when you’d give your life to start over.”

Madelyn had similar sentiments—for a long time after Nate’s death, she’d had done anything to bring him back, even if it meant sacrificing her own life. A gamble with God in prayers, until she ultimately stopped praying altogether. This was a pain she never wanted to share, especially with Nick. He’d always supported her—been her closest friend—and now it was her chance to repay the kindness tenfold. But first—she needed to stop blaming herself.

Nick moved to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug, and Madelyn quickly returned the gesture, burying her face in his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, silently mending their bond while mourning their losses. Eventually, he pulled away, wiping at his face and offering a shaky smile.

“Whiskey?”

Madelyn breathed a laugh, swiping away the last of her tears. “God, yes.”

He nodded, breaking away to move back behind the desk so he could fetch the glasses from the drawers. Madelyn briefly considered stating it was a from-the-bottle kind of night, but held her tongue, finally deciding to take a seat in her favored armchair to the left. Nick poured much more than a regular serving for them both, circling back to hand her the glass before leaning against his desk. They raised their cups in a silent toast, unable to speak the name on both their minds—for Jenny.

It wasn’t the most content silence she had ever sat in, but the whiskey helped—a delightful burn as she drank the amber liquid in tiny sips, sighing as the alcohol helped numb the lingering pain in her heart and mind. The last few months had been a testament to her emotions, but she had come out on the other end—a brave new Madelyn, ready for anything life was ready to throw at her.

In the lobby, the chime of the front door rang out. Nick and Madelyn exchanged a look, both glancing to the clock on the wall—midnight—before listening to Ellie’s cheery greeting. Madelyn was slightly surprised to find Deacon standing at the door to Nick’s office—last she understood, he was running a last-minute operation with Tinker Tom, and the only reason why he was absent from her side in the first place.

“Hey,” he greeted, not moving from the doorway. His hesitation to enter was understandable, considering his rocky relationship with the detective. If it wasn’t how they felt about Madelyn, it was now Jenny—Nick had trusted Deacon to keep her safe—and he’d failed just as spectacularly as Madelyn had.

Evidentially, however, the detective decided not to hold a grudge. Nick nodded his head, silently beckoning him into the room. The Railroad agent sat in the opposite armchair, leaning forward instead of relaxing against the cushions.

“Didn’t mean to intrude,” he started, before pulling a small notebook from his coat pocket. “But I figured you’d both be interested in seeing this.”

Madelyn was intrigued, shifting so she could take the papers from him when offered. “What is this?”

“Remember our first outing? The Switchboard?” he asked, holding back a grin. Fond memories, yes—but now was not the time to reminisce. “Tinkers’ has been hard at work decoding the files we recovered—this is just some of what he’s uncovered.”

She looked over the information, scribbled notes that were hard to read due to Tom’s messy handwriting, but one name stood out. Shaun. “Wait—that name—”

Madelyn passed the notebook to Nick, who took one large gulp of whiskey before setting his glass down. His eyes widened in realization. “The baby? Is this the same kid that was kidnapped in 1947?”

Deacon nodded. “Think so.”

“What is his name doing in Railroad intelligence files?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he answered with a shrug. “Tom is still working on deciphering the rest. It’s a slow process. Hell, it’s taken months just to get this much. Could be a missing person’s list from ten years ago, for all we know. Or…”

Madelyn swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’d tell me if the Railroad had baby Shaun disappeared, right?”

It wasn’t exactly fair to put him on the spot—especially in front of Nick—but he surprised her with a swift answer, tilting his head just enough so she saw the flicker of his steely-blue eyes. “Yes.”

“There’s another name here,” Nick tapped the paper, passing it back to Madelyn.

She squinted at Tom’s inked squiggles, mouthing the letters and words before landing on a name. “Preston? Preston Garvey.”

“Is that another missing person?” Deacon asked, looking to Nick, who shook his head. “A suspect then?”

“It’s a lead, if nothing,” she responded. A name could be anything. For all they knew, Preston Garvey could be another sandwich shop, or a bowling alley…or a museum. Deacon shrugged. Amongst their exchange, Nick had been silent, rubbing at his chin in thought.

Madelyn glanced to her partner with a hopeful expression. “What are you thinking, Nick?”

The detective glanced over to the notebook in her hands, and slowly a smile pulled at his lips. “I’d say our cold case just heated up.”

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