Marlborough Street, Boston
37
Bo Boban did not want to return to his townhouse on Marlborough Street. I took him to my place.
“Besides the details of what you discovered this morning, did you tell Bevilaqua anything new today, Bo?”
“Other than I am scared shitless, I don’t think so.” Shitless draped in Bo’s accent had a unique sound to it.
”Is there anything new you wish to tell me?”
Miljenko Boban sat back on my futon. He was closing and opening his fists.
“May I take my shoes off, Finn?”
I nodded. Boban slipped off his loafers and folded his legs beneath him.
“OK, we need to decide if you are going to work for me.” Bo said.
“Because there are things you would tell me if I were that you would not if I weren’t?”
“Yes.”
“Then here’s the deal…”
I laid out what he needed to do to employ me. He took a blank check drawn on the school from his wallet and placed it on the table.
“Do you have a pen?”
Boban wrote the check for the minimum retainer. He spoke as he signed it.
“Everything I have told you is true. But there are things you… I… will tell you now I did not before. There are things I did not tell the police I wish to tell you. There are things that I do not know…”
“And it is the unknown things that have you frightened?”
“Mostly, yes. But much of what I know frightens me, too.”
At my request Boban told me again about his side business of securing safe passage for Croats needing to come to North America. He added details about the life that Ivana and Mislava led in Northern Ireland.
“It is true that I did not ask why they needed to come here. Of course I knew that it was critical for their safety that they do so, but I did not ask why. I never do. I always add the disclaimer that I would not help anyone fleeing from justice, but of course I know that these people would not need me if they were not fleeing from something. I leave those things to Berislav Orasac, my acquaintance in Northern Ireland.”
“AKA Chris Moore.”
“Yes.”
“How did the two of you find one another? Did you know each other in Croatia?”
“No. In fact we have never met. He is the brother of someone connected to my school.”
Boban’s body language was now an equal partner in our conversation. He was more animated, in a disjointed sort of way.
“Someone here in Boston?”
“Well, she was. I have not seen her and I have not heard from her for a while. I did not think much of it until today. For obvious reasons I am now concerned for her.”
“Have you tried to contact her?”
“I have not. After this morning I do not think it wise to do so. Perhaps the first thing you can do for me is that…please try and contact her.”
Bo handed me her business card. Her name was Jalena Orasac. She lived in Malden. I got her answering machine when I called.
“OK, Bo, Let’s see if I can find Ms. Orasac. Meanwhile, would you gather up any paperwork you have on her? Maybe…”
“Of course. As soon as the police allow me – or allow us I hope - back into the school. Then I am going on a trip. In the meantime, may I impose on you to stay here?”
Two days later Boban and I were allowed back into the school. Bo called a toxic waste cleanup company, his assistant, and the school’s travel agent. He gave me Jalena Orasac’s file and contact information for her brother in Northern Ireland.
“I do not know yet where I will end up. Here’s my cell phone number and email address.” He wrote them on the folder. “If you need me use them. Otherwise…”
I nodded.
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