Rough Weather (19 page)

“Gone,” he said after a moment.

“Blood’s starting to dry,” I said.

The cop nodded and yelled to his partner in the hall.

“Call the captain, Harry,” he said. “We got a homicide.”

Then he looked at me.

“You and your partner stick around,” he said.

When all the crime-scene fuss
was over, the place dusted, the photographs taken, the grounds searched, the room sealed, Healy sat with Hawk and me in the coffee shop of the motel and ate a sandwich.

Healy put his sandwich down and swallowed and looked at Hawk.

“I seem to be consorting with a known felon,” Healy said.

“Think how I feel,” Hawk said.

Healy nodded.

“Motel’s dug into a sort of low hillside,” Healy said. “So ten feet from the back, there’s a hill nearly level with the second floor.”

“Shoulda asked for a front room,” Hawk said.

Healy nodded and ate some of his sandwich. Hawk and I each had a beer. We were hoping to do better than the Wagner Coffee Shop for dinner.

“Footprints on the hill?” I said.

“Nope, ground’s dry. Lotta people have walked around up there; grass is sort of trampled.”

“Peeping Toms?” I said.

“Everybody needs a nice hobby,” Healy said.

“So whoever shot him knew where he was and was good with a gun. Put one in Bradshaw’s head through the glass,” I said.

“From maybe twenty feet,” Healy said. “Didn’t have to be Annie Oakley.”

“One shot,” I said. “That’s confidence.”

“Maybe, but from the hill you can’t see the floor of the room,” Healy said. “When Bradshaw went down, he was out of sight.”

“One in the middle of the forehead, one try only?” I said. “Guy must have had some confidence in himself, unless he was aiming for the middle of the mass and missed badly.”

“Wasn’t Bradshaw some sort of spook?” Hawk said.

“Maybe,” I said.

“He knew he in danger,” Hawk said. “Why he called you.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Shoulda known better than hide in a room at somebody’s eye level,” Hawk said.

“And stand looking out the window with the lights on,” Healy said. “There was a scatter of glass particles on his face.”

“Maybe he wasn’t a spook,” I said.

“Maybe not too bright,” Hawk said.

“Fear makes you stupid sometimes,” I said.

Hawk grinned.

“Wouldn’t know,” he said.

“He thought no one knew he was in the motel,” I said.

Hawk nodded.

“Hole looks like a small-caliber, and we found a twenty-two slug in the mattress,” Healy said. “Maybe a target gun.”

“Which means the shooter’s a pro,” I said. “Or such an amateur that it was the only gun he could get.”

“I’m voting for pro,” Healy said.

“So who we got in this mess that’s a pro?” I said.

“Tony Marcus,” Healy said. “Actually, Ty-Bop.”

“Ty-Bop’s just the gun,” I said. “Tony pulls the trigger.”

“I know,” Healy said.

“Or Rugar,” Hawk said.

“I think that’s a union violation,” I said. “You’re detecting.”

“Nope,” Hawk said. “Just thinking out loud. Prove that I can.”

“Why would Rugar kill this guy?” Healy said.

“We knew that,” I said, “we might know everything.”

“Wouldn’t that be refreshing,” Healy said.

It was Sunday.
We were at the counter of the Agawam Diner, the world’s leading restaurant, having a late breakfast. Hawk had taken Sunday off, on the hopeful assumption that no one in Rowley would try to kill me. From where we sat I could see that Pearl had settled down in the driver’s seat of my car and gone to sleep just as if she didn’t know we were in there eating without her.

“I got a call,” I said, “from Heidi Bradshaw.”

“Really.”

“She wants to see me.”

“Of course she does,” Susan said. “Who wouldn’t.”

“She sounded sort of scared,” I said.

“Of what?”

“She’d heard about Bradshaw,” I said. “I think she’s scared it will happen to her.”

“She say why she thinks that?”

“No.”

“Be good to know,” Susan said.

“It would,” I said. “Any other questions you think I should ask?”

“None, I’m sure, that you haven’t thought of,” Susan said. “Myself, I would be very interested in why she didn’t get better psychiatric treatment for her daughter after she attempted suicide.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d like to know that, too. I would also like to know if she knew Rugar in Bucharest.”

“Do you think she’ll tell you?”

“Probably not,” I said. “But something might come out.”

“Nothing ventured . . .” Susan said. “Are you going there?”

“No,” I said. “She’s coming to me.”

“Noblesse oblige,” Susan said.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m thrilled.”

“Have you ever thought about how much it must cost,” Susan said, “to be Heidi Bradshaw?”

“More than the GNP of Albania?” I said.

“Probably,” Susan said. “She doesn’t spin, neither does she sow.”

“She’s dependent on the kindness of husbands,” I said.

Susan nodded.

“The most recent of whom seem to be broke, or nearly so,” I said. “According to Epstein.”

“Might want to factor that in,” Susan said.

“Yeah,” I said. “You know what I don’t get? Epstein says Van Meer is broke. Van Meer says he’s rich.”

“Drunks are the royalty of denial,” Susan said.

“Especially while drinking,” I said.

“Which for someone like Van Meer is probably nearly always,” Susan said.

“Maybe that’s why he drinks. Denial is a much more pleasant reality than the one he’d have to face,” I said.

“Maybe,” Susan said. “Some people drink because they like it, you know, and then get addicted and drink because they must.”

“I’m still at the
like it
part,” I said.

“You won’t get addicted,” Susan said.

We were both drinking coffee. Susan had ordered a soft-boiled egg and some toast. I went a bit heartier: orange juice, three eggs over easy, sausages, home fries, toast, and of course, the basis of all gourmet breakfasts, pie.

“Why not?”

“You won’t,” she said.

“I’m kind of addicted to you,” I said.

“That’s because you love me,” Susan said.

“And I don’t love booze?”

“No,” Susan said. “You don’t, nor would you.” She smiled. “You’re much too loyal.”

The waitress brought my orange juice. I drank some. She refilled both our coffee cups.

“Doesn’t addiction mean that you are beyond controlling it?” I said.

“Which is why you would never have one,” Susan said.

“Because I’m addicted to self-control?”

“Or not being controlled,” Susan said. “You are much too autonomous to ever let something get hold of you . . . or someone.”

“Except?” I said.

Susan smiled.

“Nope, not even me,” she said. “There are, after all, things you will not do, even for me.”

The waitress returned and put the soft-boiled egg in front of Susan and my breakfast in front of me.

“How’d you know which of us got the big plate?” I said.

The waitress stared at me for a moment. Then she looked at Susan and looked at me.

“Just a wild guess,” she said. “You need anything else right now?”

We didn’t.

“There’s not much that I can think of that I wouldn’t do,” I said, “if you asked.”

“It’s because I know better than to ask,” Susan said.

“That’s crazy,” I said.

“You’d do anything I asked?” Susan said.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Can I have your pie?” Susan said.

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

It was like a presidential visit.
First into my office were two Tashtego security guys in plain clothes with walkie-talkies.

“You Spenser?” one of them said.

“Yes, I am,” I said.

They both looked at Hawk, who was sitting on Pearl’s couch.

“Who’s he?”

“Security consultant,” I said. “His name’s Hawk.”

“He’s with you?” the Tashtego patrol guy said.

“He is,” I said. “No one else would have him.”

Hawk smiled a friendly smile.

“Okay,” the guy said. “We’re bringing Mrs. Bradshaw in.”

He spoke briefly into his walkie-talkie. Then he and his partner moved to stand on either side of the door. We waited. In a minute, four more security guys came to the door and stood aside and from among them, like an old Esther Williams water ballet, Heidi emerged and came into the office. She was wearing a fur coat, which she slid out of as she sat and let it drape over the back of her chair. She had on a stretchy, tight-fitting sleeveless black top and a camel-colored skirt. The skirt was short above black boots.

She looked around my office, her glance lingering on Hawk. Then she said, “Okay, Michael, you and the others can wait outside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the security guy said. “Do you want the door left open?”

“No,” she said. “Close it.”

The men withdrew. The door closed, and there we were.

“Who is this gentleman?” Heidi said.

“My associate Hawk,” I said.

“Oh, my,” Heidi said.

Hawk nodded at her.

“He’s as male as you are,” Heidi said.

“But less winsome,” I said.

“Whatever that means,” Heidi said. “The two of you look like a testosterone commercial.”

It was the funny, warm, sexy Heidi today. Full of flirtatious innuendo. She really wanted something.

“And it’s all at your service,” I said. “Whaddya need?”

Heidi was quiet for a moment. She looked at Hawk for a long time, and then at me. She crossed her legs.

“May I speak freely?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

She stretched a little in her chair so that her breasts pushed out. Then she put her head down and rubbed the bridge of her nose at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s terrible what happened to poor Harden,” she said softly. “Do you know who killed him?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Can you tell me anything?”

“He was hiding out in a motel in Burlington, Mass,” I said. “Under the name Bailey. Somebody shot him in the head through the window of his hotel room.”

“Why was he hiding out?” she said.

“Don’t know.”

Heidi turned to Hawk, and as she leaned a little forward in the chair, her skirt got shorter.

“Were you there?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hawk said.

“Do you know anything?” she said.

“Same as Spenser,” Hawk said.

She looked back at me.

“Do the police have a theory?” she said.

“Not yet,” I said.

“You found him there.”

“Yes.”

“How did you happen to go there?”

“He called me,” I said. “Told me he was in danger. Asked for help.”

“And you were too late,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Why you?” she said.

“Good question,” I said. “I haven’t solved a crime in quite a long time.”

She shook her head slowly.

“You inspire confidence,” she said. “Something about you is reassuring.”

I looked at Hawk. He had no expression on his face.

“And you need reassurance,” I said.

“If it could happen to Harden . . .” she said.

“Hence the heavy security,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“And you want what from me?” I said.

“I want you to be my personal bodyguard.”

“In addition to the Tashtego patrol?” I said.

“They didn’t protect my Adelaide,” she said.

“Neither did I,” I said.

“You weren’t hired to,” Heidi said.

She shifted again in her chair, leaning toward me. The skirt seemed to have edged farther up her thighs. Probably just an accident.

“Why was I hired?” I said.

She sat back quite suddenly and stared at me.

“I . . . I told you already,” she said, “when I hired you. I’m not proud of it, I guess, but I needed a man to lean on.”

“Like a fish needs a bicycle,” I said.

She opened her mouth and her eyes widened. She closed her mouth. She narrowed her eyes. The gamut of emotion.

“What are you saying,” she said after a while.

Her voice was breathy.

“I’m saying you don’t lean on men. You use them. I’m saying that you were involved with something or someone that scared you,” I told her. “And you wanted a tough guy around to help you if it went bad. I was the tough guy of choice.”

“I don’t . . . you think I knew what was going to happen? What an awful thing to think. My daughter is gone. My son-in-law is dead. I am the victim here. How dare you accuse me.”

“Did you know your son-in-law was gay?” I said.

“That’s a disgusting thing to say. Of course he wasn’t gay. If he were gay, why would he be marrying my daughter?”

“My question exactly,” I said.

“I came here asking for your help, and you say these things to me?”

“Did you know Rugar,” I said to Heidi, “in Bucharest, in 1984?”

“What?”

“You were in Bucharest in 1984,” I said. “With Bradshaw, who was working out of the American embassy. So was Rugar.”

“That’s absurd,” Heidi said.

She was sitting stiffly upright in her chair now. Her knees were pressed together; the ascent of her skirt had halted at mid-thigh. Her elbows were on the arms of the chair. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She seemed to be breathing rapidly, as if she had sprinted a distance.

“Coulda happened,” Hawk said helpfully.

“It didn’t,” Heidi said.