Next of Kin by David Hosp Page A

mother’s alive; she’s just got problems,’ Finn said. ‘Did you come here to talk about Sally?’ Finn asked. ‘I mean, is she
connected to my mother?’
    ‘No.’ Long shrugged. ‘Just making conversation. I didn’t know about her. It made me curious, is all.’
    Finn cocked his head and said, ‘Is that really what you’re curious about?’
    ‘No,’ Long said. It was clear that he was still studying Finn, trying to read him. ‘Did you know your mother was dead?’ Long asked.
    ‘I didn’t even know she was alive,’ Finn answered. ‘Who was she?’
    Long held up the letter. ‘She never wrote back to you?’ he asked. ‘You never found out who she was?’ The detective walked over to the window and looked out at the view
reaching down the hill to the shore.
    ‘No,’ Finn said. ‘She never wrote me back, and I never found out who she was.’ He felt his voice starting to rise, and took a deep breath to calm himself down.
‘I’ve spent my entire life knowing nothing about my parents. You’re telling me now that my mother was murdered. Sorry if I seem a little impatient. Who was she?’
    It took a moment for Long to respond. He turned from the window and said, ‘Sorry.’ The way it came out made Finn want to knee the man in the groin, but he kept his composure.
‘Her name was Elizabeth Connor,’ Long said at last. ‘Lived in Roxbury, just out past Metropolitan Hospital. You been out that way recently?’
    ‘I’m in Roxbury District Court just about every week,’ Finn said. ‘You probably already know that if you did some background on me. How was she murdered?’
    ‘Beaten,’ Long said. He took a small notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. ‘With the poker from a fire set. Whoever did it kept hitting her even after she
was dead. Looks like there was a lot of anger involved. The locks were picked, her place was tossed. We’re not sure what she had there before, so we don’t know what’s
missing.’
    ‘And the letter . . . ?’
    ‘Found it taped underneath a desk drawer. Interesting reading.’
    ‘I was angry when I wrote it.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Long said. ‘So I gathered. Understandable, I guess, given everything that you went through. You didn’t have the happiest childhood after she gave you up, did
you?’
    ‘No, I didn’t,’ Finn said.
    ‘Must’ve been tough.’
    ‘Lots of kids have it tough,’ Finn said. He narrowed his gaze at Long. ‘How about you, Detective? How was your childhood?’
    Long nodded with a bitter laugh. ‘ Touché , Mr Finn. ’Course, neither of my parents were murdered, otherwise I’m sure some cop would’ve shown up at my door
asking a bunch of annoying questions. Your mother, though . . .’ His voice trailed off. ‘How many foster homes did you go through? How many stays at state facilities before you hit the
streets?’
    ‘Too many,’ Finn said. He fought to keep his mind from pointlessly traversing the past. ‘It was a long time ago.’
    ‘Yeah, it was,’ Long admitted. ‘Some wounds take a long time to heal.’
    ‘Do you have something you want to ask me, Detective?’
    Long turned his palms up. ‘It’s my job – you understand.’ He looked at his notes again. ‘Elizabeth Connor,’ he continued, summarizing, ‘lived alone; no
evidence of any long-term attachments; not married; no children we know of – other than you, of course; fairly mundane job about ten blocks from where she lived. From what we know so far, she
lived an unexceptional life.’
    ‘Any leads on who might have murdered her?’ Finn asked.
    ‘Just an angry letter from a son she apparently never knew taped to the bottom of a drawer.’ He waved the letter again. Finn looked away. ‘Other than that, nothing. You
understand why we have to follow up, I’m sure.’
    ‘I’m sure,’ Finn said. ‘It’s late, so I’ll make this easy on you, Detective. I wrote the letter a long time ago and sent it to the agency that placed me as a