Family Honor - Robert B Parker (22 page)

I went in and got the list of political contributors for
Brock Patton. I went back, gave Tommy a kiss, got in my car, and went on
down the back of Beacon Hill to Cambridge Street. I parked at a hydrant
outside the Starbucks on Cambridge, and went in and got two oatmeal maple
scones and two cups of Guatemalan coffee. I brought them out, gave coffee
and a scone to Millicent, and a half a scone to Rosie, and kept the other
half for me.

"We going to sit here while you read that stuff?" Millicent
said.

"Yep."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Drink your coffee. Eat your scone. Give bites of it to
Rosie. Watch the people passing by. Savor the moment of uncompromised leisure
that you're afforded."

Millicent sighed loudly.

"Can I play the radio?" she said.

"Sure. Anything but talk radio. I can't stand talk radio."

She fiddled with the radio, moving irritably from one
station that played hideous music to another station that played hideous
music. Where's Neil Diamond when you need him.

I had just taken a bite of the scone and a short slurp
of Guatemalan coffee, and Millicent had just tuned in her fifth hideous
heavy metal station, when I came across the name Albert Antonioni, of Providence,
Rhode Island. I was two names past it, someone named Amaral, when I stopped
and went back. Albert, from Providence. That's what the driver had said
about who was with Cathal Kragan in the back of the limo when they called
on Brock Patton. I was orderly and patient. I went through the whole list,
which took a second scone and trips for two more cups of coffee. There
were other Alberts, and there were other people from Providence. But none
that were both.

"Do you know anyone named Albert Antonioni?" I said to
Millicent.

"No."

"He might have been a friend of your father's?"

"No."

She fiddled with the dial some more.

Albert Antonioni. The name seemed familiar. There was
some kind of Italian movie guy named Antonioni, but the name was familiar
in a different context.

"I have to make some calls," I said to Millicent.

She didn't react, so I reached over and turned the radio
off. "Just while I call," I said.

She slumped in the front seat and stared out the window.
Rosie climbed around from the back seat and got in her lap. Before she
could catch herself Millicent patted her. I picked up the car phone my
mother had given me for Christmas last year, and made some phone calls
and ended up talking to a detective in the Providence Police intelligence
unit named Kathy DeMarco.

"He's the man down here," Kathy told me. "When the old
man died, and junior went to jail, Antonioni was the guy who had to run
things for the mob. At first it was temporary but pretty soon Albert was
consolidating. And he consolidated the opposition right out of existence.
And now he's the man."

"The usual way?" I said.

"Of consolidating? Yeah: bang, bang."

"Might he be expanding?" I said.
 
"Be his style," Kathy said.

"Is he connected at all to Brock Patton?" I said. "Who
used to be the president of Roger Williams Trust?"

"Not that I know. Lemme bring it up on the screen." I
waited.

"Got nothing under Antonioni," Kathy said. "Lemme look
under Patton."

I waited some more.

"No Brock Patton," Kathy said. "How about Cathal Kragan?"

"Who?"
I spelled it.

"That his real name?"

"I don't know," I said. "Just a guy I'm trying to locate."

"What are we," Kathy said. "A dating service?"

"I don't want to date Cathal Kragan," I said. Kathy looked
it up.

"No Cathal Kragan," she said.

"Thank you," I said. "Can I get a picture of Antonioni?"

"Sure, Sunny, all part of the service," Kathy said.

"Actually," I said, "I know it isn't. So thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. I gave her my address.

"If I come across the elusive Cathal," Kathy said, "I'll
give you a buzz."

"Be sure it's the right Cathal Kragan," I said.

"I'll try to sort them out."

We hung up. I left it in the cradle and pushed the speakerphone
button and called the answering machine in my loft. I pictured the empty
loft with a new canvas sitting and waiting on the new easel. I felt displaced,
drinking yuppie coffee with my yuppie cell phone listening to messages
from my empty home.

There was a message from my mother saying that they were
worried because I was never home when they called.

The next message said, "If you do not return Millicent
Patton to her parents, you will be killed."

"It's him," Millicent said next to me.

"Who."

"The man in the bathroom that looked right at me. The
man was with my mother, when you know ... him."

I rewound the message and we listened again. The voice
was deep and contemptuous and full of power.

"It's him," Millicent said again. "What are you going
to do?"

"Let me just hear my messages," I said. "Then we'll talk."

The last message was from Anderson, the Framingham cop
who had let me into Kevin Humphries' plumbing office.

"Got something you might be interested in," Anderson said.
"Gimme a call."

I shut off the phone. And sat back and took a breath.

"Clues are pouring in," I said to Millicent.

"What you going to do about him? The man? He said he was
going to kill you."

"I won't bring you back," I said. "If that's worrying
you."

"No. I knew you wouldn't," Millicent said. "But he said
he'd kill you."

"Actually he said I'd be killed."

"Whatever," Millicent said. "What are you going to do?"

"Sooner or later," I said, "I'm going to have to confront
him."

 "No."

"Yes."

"You can't. He'll kill you."

"I'll arrange it so he won't," I said. "You know who he
is."

"I believe he's a man named Cathal Kragan. I think he
sent those men that came to our door. I believe he killed a man that I
talked with named Bucko Meehan. And he might have killed a man in Framingham
named Kevin Humphries."

"Don't go."

"I have to go," I said. "This is what I do."

"But what about me? What if he kills you?"

"I won't go yet," I said.
 

"I feel like all of a sudden I'm a mother," I said to
Julie. "It's so exciting to be out by myself without Millicent."

"Is she with Spike?"

"No, Richie. Spike's working and Richie was coming by
anyway to visit Rosie."

Julie nodded. "Out and about," she said.

"You have real kids of your own." I said. "But you must
feel that way sometimes."

"God yes," Julie said. "Anytime I'm away from them. Except
of course when I'm feeling that way I'm also feeling guilty that I'm feeling
that way."

"I know."

"I wonder if fathers feel that way?"

"Well," I said. "They have more of a tradition of being
away from the kids, supporting them and all that."

"I know," Julie said, "But I swear Michael is a better
mother than I am."

"Maybe he's just a good father," I said.

"He seems to want to be with them all the time. He likes
to take them with us when we go places."

"Which makes you feel selfish and unloving," I said. "You
bet."

Julie finished her wine and gestured at the bartender
for another glass.

"You love the kids," I said.

"Yes."

"And Michael loves them."

"Yes."

"That's all each of you can do," I said. "Love them the
way you can."

"Sometimes I think it's easier if you don't love them."

"It's not," I said.

The bartender brought Julie her wine. Julie studied me
for a moment before she picked up her glass and drank.

"This thing with Millicent is riding you, isn't it?" she
said.

"Of course," I said.

"Want to talk about it?"

"I thought you'd never ask. I'm trying to save her and
the only way I can is to solve the crime she's a part of, and I can't solve
it if I'm taking care of her all the time. And I can't take the risks I
would normally be willing to take, because all of a sudden I have to worry
about her."

"You've always had to worry about Rosie," Julie said.

"Yes, but if something happened to me, Richie would take
her and in a little while she'd be fine."

"Dogs are good that way."

"But who would take Millicent?" I said.

"She does have a mother and father," Julie said.

"She can't be with them," I said.

Julie stared at her wine. The bar was crowded. The two
bartenders were busy.

"And Richie can't take her."

"No. Why would he? He barely knows her."

"That was true of you when you took her."

I didn't say anything.

"Wasn't it?" Julie said.

"There was no one else to do it," I said.

"And it had to be done." I had a second glass of wine.
Julie had a third.

"Too bad you and Richie can't work it out," Julie said.

"Maybe we will," I said.

"Tell me again why you're not together?"

"Well for one thing he won't give up the family business."

"And neither will you," Julie said.

"Me?"

"How many people in your family have been cops?"

"Besides my father?"

"Un huh."

"Two uncles, and my grandfather."

"Un huh."

"I'm not a cop."

"Sure."

"Always a damned therapist," I said. Julie was quiet.

"So maybe there's some fault on both sides," I said. "It
still means that one of us needs to change to be with the other one."

"What's wrong with that?"

I shook my head.

"I can't think about that now," I said. "I have to figure
out what to do with Millicent."

"How about private school?"

"Private school costs a lot of money."

"Maybe you can get money from the parents."

"I can't send her away now. She's in too much danger."

"Do you really think so?"

"I think when those men came to my door, they weren't
trying to take her back to her parents. I think they were going to kill
her."

"Because?"

"Because of what she saw," I said.

"The man with her mother?"

"Yes. There are some big-league players involved."

"And Richie can't help you?"

"I don't know if he can or can't. But I'm pretty sure
he shouldn't."

"Because you're separated?"

"Yes. I won't live with him, won't sleep with him. But
I can ask him to take care of me, help with anything I can't handle myself?"

"You talk as if sleeping with someone were a tradeoff
for something else," Julie said.

"It just isn't right for me to have it both ways."

"What's Richie think?" Julie said.

"I don't know."

"Maybe you should ask him," she said.
 

"Humphries," Anderson was saying, "the plumber got killed
on Route 9."

"Yes," I said.

"He had a mailbox at one of those private mail services,
wife didn't know anything about it, except the bill came this month. And
since he's not around to pay it, the wife gets it. Well, she says she's
got no use for a private mailbox and she wants to cancel it and the service
says fine, but you need to clean the box out. So she does and all she finds
is this big fat envelope. And when she opens it she figures she better
bring it to us, which she did, and I thought you might want to take a gander."

"I do," I said.

Anderson slid the envelope toward me. It was a big one,
whatever the next bigger size is to 8 1/2 by 11. It was addressed to Kevin
Humphries, care of the private mailbox service. It was full of pictures
and the pictures were of Betty Patton and a man having sex. Having sex
doesn't really do them justice. They were having every variety of sex mammals
were capable of having. I looked at the pictures for a time, turned a couple
of them upside down, or maybe right side up, I couldn't be sure.