Widow’s Walk (15 page)

Rick was a tall thin guy with his thinning hair cut very short. He wore round eyeglasses with gold frames. There was a blue-and-red sea serpent tattooed on his left forearm. He looked at the picture of Conroy for a while, then looked at Race.

“He’s cool,” race said.

I smiled in a cool way. Rick studied me for a minute.

“Yeah, he was in here.”

“You remember him?”

“Yeah, sure. He was a straight guy, and he was asking me about Nathan Smith. And he had attitude.”

“How could you tell he was straight?” I said.

Rick looked at me and snorted.

“Oh,” I said. “That’s how. What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t know Nathan Smith.”

“He press you?”

“Yes.”

“He say what he wanted?”

“No. I thought he might be some detective Smith’s wife hired.”

“Why?”

“Some of the men who come in here, they’re married and their wives are starting to wonder about them.”

“He ask about Nathan’s sex life?”

Rick shook his head. “Just wanted to know if he came in here often.”

“If he came here often,” Race said, “you wouldn’t have to ask about his sex life. It’s why people come here often.”

“Looking for young men,” I said.

“The younger the better.”

“So if you knew Smith came here often, you’d surmise he was gay.”

Rick looked at me. “And you’d probably know the Pope was Catholic,” he said.

“He talk with anybody else?” I said.

“He tried.”

“And?”

“Nobody here is going to talk with a guy like that.”

“He hang around?” I said.

“Yeah. I got off work early one night,” Rick said, “and I saw him outside.”

“What was he doing?”

“Just sitting in his car outside the club. Another car went by in the other direction and the headlights shined on him.”

“Was Nathan Smith here the night this guy was outside?” I said.

“I don’t know… yes he was. Because I thought, ”I wonder if he’s waiting for Nathan.“”

“Which he was,” Race said.

I nodded. “And whom he probably saw,” I said.

“So he knew he was queer,” Race said.

“Conroy must have had some reason to think Smith was queer,” I said. “Otherwise why would he come here?”

“And why here?” Race said. “Why not visit all the many gay places, the come-what-may places?”

“Maybe he did.”

“We can ask,” Race said.

“You know them all?”

“Known them all already,” Race said, “known them all.”

“Strayhorn,” I said, “and Eliot in the same conversation.”

“I’m not just another pretty face,” Race said.

We spent the next eight hours moving from gay bar to gay bar. No one else had encountered Marvin Conroy that they could remember. Near midnight we sat at the bar of a place in the South End called Ramrod and drank beer.

“So Conroy had an idea what he’d find out before he went to Nellie’s,” I said.

“Apparently,” Race said. “He doesn’t seem to have gone anywhere else.”

“Have we missed any?”

“None that a guy like Conroy would have known about,” Race said.

“So who told him?” I said.

“Am I a detective,” Race said.

“I’m beginning to wonder the same thing about me,” I said.

“The gun you gave me killed Nathan Smith,” Quirk said.

“Better to be lucky than good,” I said.

“Good to be both,” Quirk said. “Franklin cops picked up Levesque last night. Belson and I are going out to talk with him. Want to ride along?”

“Yes.”

“Be out front of your place in half an hour.”

I had time for orange juice and a shower. As I went out my front door I was thinking of coffee. Belson was driving. Quirk sat up front beside him. I got in the back. Quirk handed me a cup of coffee over the seat back. Salvation.

“Where’s Hawk?”

“I figured I’d be safe with you guys,” I said.

“Serve and protect,” Quirk said.

“You got anything on DeRosa yet?”

“Nope. Slugs came from two different guns. Nine-millimeter and forty-five. Both guns shot both people. Often.”

“How many rounds?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Sure did want them dead,” I said.

“Maybe they liked the work,” Belson said.

“Maybe he had two guns,” I said.

“Whichever,” Belson said.

I drank my coffee.

We talked to Levesque in a cell at the Franklin Police Station. He didn’t think he was tough anymore. He sat on the bunk in jeans and an undershirt, no belt and no shoelaces, hunched forward, his forearms resting limply against his thighs, his hands dangling. Quirk stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, all the time in the world. Belson leaned on one wall. I leaned on the other. A Franklin cop stood outside the cell, with a guy from the Norfolk County DA’S office.

Quirk said, “You know who I am, Roy?”

He sounded friendly. Levesque nodded.

“You know why you’re here?”

“Something about a gun,” Levesque mumbled.

Quirk nodded at me.

“This good citizen took a gun away from you that was used to kill a man in Boston.”

“I didn’t kill no one.”

“I believe you, Roy. And I know Sergeant Belson believes you, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Spenser believes you. But I’m not positive that the assistant DA believes you. And I’m not sure a judge and jury would believe you, and I’m not so sure but that you might go down for it.”

“Honest to God, sir, I didn’t kill nobody.”

Quirk nodded thoughtfully and hit Levesque with his open hand hard, across the face. Quirk is a big man. Levesque rocked back and almost fell. He put both hands up on top of his head and tried to hide behind his forearms.

“Don’t lie to me,” Quirk said to Levesque without emotion.

Belson said, “Captain.”

The assistant DA, whose name was Santoro, said, “Captain, Jesus Christ.”

Quirk ignored them. He said, “Tell me about the gun, Roy.”

Levesque kept his arms up, protecting his face.

“I don’t know anything,” he said.

Quirk smiled and leaned forward and slapped Levesque hard on the back of the head. Levesque moved his hands to try to protect himself and doubled up, his elbows touching his knees.

Santoro said, “Captain, we can’t have that. I don’t know what you do in Boston, but in Norfolk County, we can’t have that.”

Quirk paid no attention. He said, “Tell me about the gun, Roy.”

The Franklin cop said, “I don’t want to be a part of this.”

“You’re right,” Santoro said. “I don’t either.”

They both turned and walked down the corridor.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Belson said. “No disrespect, but I can’t watch this.”

“Me either,” I said.

Quirk said nothing. Levesque huddled on his bunk. Belson and I went out of the cell and closed the door. I saw Levesque hunch his shoulders up a little tighter. I followed Belson down the hallway.

“Coffee in the squad room,” the Franklin cop said.

We went in. Santoro was there already, sitting at the end of a Formica table with a cup of coffee. Belson and I got some and sat at the table with him. He had gotten the last donut. The empty box sat evocatively on the table.

“I hear you know Rita Fiore,” Santoro said.

“You work for the Norfolk DA when she was there?” I said.

Santoro looked reminiscent. “I did,” he said.

“I’m working for her now,” I said.

“Getting any fringe benefits?” Santoro said.

“Rita and I are friends,” I said with dignity.

“And Rita’s got no enemies,” Santoro said.

“How long you think,” the Franklin cop said.

Belson looked at his watch. “Usually goes quick.”

“Seriously,” Santoro said, “you ever give Rita a little bop?”

“In my case it would be a big bop,” I said. “And it’s not your business.”

“Hey, just killing a little time.”

“Kill it another way,” I said.

Santoro shrugged. We drank our coffee.

After a while, Belson said, “I don’t think it would be such a big bop.”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” I said.

“I’ll check it with Susan,” Belson said.

“She’s promised not to tell,” I said.

The door to the squad room opened and Quirk stuck his head in.

“Levesque wants to make a statement,” Quirk said.

“Said he’d never had a gun,” Quirk told us on the ride back to Boston. “Said he held on to it because he’d always wanted one and maybe it would come in handy someday.”

“It came in handy for someone,” I said.

“Levesque says he was Mary Toricelli’s boyfriend, before and after she married Smith. Says that Mr. and Mrs. Smith had an open marriage. Smith with boys, her with him, Levesque.”

“We believe his story?”

“Sounded true to me,” Quirk said.

“Too scared to lie?”

“Be my guess,” Quirk said.

“They coulda been in it together,” Belson said.

“Sure.”

“She denies it, it’ll be her word against his.”

“Prints?” I said.

“His,” Quirk said, and smiled. “Hawk’s. Nothing else we can use. Gun’s been handled a lot.”

“Powder residue?”

“Too long ago,” Quirk said.

“Smith had ten million dollars’ life insurance.”

“Coulda killed him for his money,” Belson said. “And when everything died down, she moves the boyfriend in.”

“You had Smith’s money,” Quirk said, “would you move Roy Levesque in?”

“He ain’t my type,” Belson said. “But it seems like he was hers.”

“He say how Mary Toricelli met Nathan Smith?” I said.

“He didn’t say.”

“Might be good to know,” I said.

“I’ll get to it,” Quirk said.

“So where does all the other stuff fit?” I said.

“Like?”

“Like Brinkman the broker, and Amy Peters, and Soldiers Field Development, and Marvin Conroy, and the kid I killed in Southie, and Jack DeRosa and his girlfriend, for instance,” I said.

“You always been picky,” Quirk said.

“You ask him any of that?”

“I’ll get to it.”

“We going to talk with her?” I said.

“We? All of a sudden it’s we?”

“I want to make sure you don’t start whacking her in the face,” I said.

“I’m going to call her attorney,” Quirk said. “Have her come in with Mrs. Smith for a dignified interview.”

“Homicide commander doesn’t usually get down to this level of nitty-gritty,” I said. “Does he? Or she?”

“In this case, he,” Quirk said. “Lotta people been killed. And the suspect is worth a large amount of money.”

“So you’re hearing about it.”

“Mayor’s up for reelection,” Quirk said. “He’s been bragging about the crime rate.”

“So you’re showing a laudable hands-on interest.”

Quirk nodded. He might have almost smiled a little.

“And there are personnel issues,” he said.

Belson kept his eyes on the road as he spoke over his right shoulder.

“I told Quirk I’d take early retirement,” he said, “before I’d go one-on-one with Mary Smith again.”

“The power of dumb,” I said.

“Don’t have the bagels,” Kiley said. “Cranberry muffins.”

I went to the counter and got orange juice, coffee, and a cranberry muffin and brought it to Kiley’s table, and sat. Kiley didn’t say anything. I drank some juice. Kiley had a muffin, too, and some juice. Same breakfast I was having, except I was eating mine.

“I been practicing criminal law around here for most of my adult life,” Kiley said.

I drank some orange juice.

“I known you sort of here and there and roundabout for a long time,” Kiley said.

I nodded and drank the rest of my orange juice.

“Everything I know about you says your word is good.”

“For something,” I said.

“I checked on you, cops, DA, lotta people.” Kiley smiled. “Some of them clients. The consensus is that you’re a hard-on, but I can trust you.”

I had mixed feelings about the consensus, but I had nothing to add.

“Before we talk,” Kiley said, “I need your word that it goes no further.”

“I can’t promise, Bobby, until I know what I’m promising.”

Kiley looked at my face for a moment and pursed his lips. His cranberry muffin lay on his plate unmolested.

“It’s about my daughter,” he said.

I put a little milk in my coffee and stirred it. “I’ll protect your daughter,” I said carefully, “if I can.”

“What makes you think she needs protection?” Kiley said.

“Come on, Bobby.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That was dumb. Okay. You gimme your word?”

“I’ll do the best I can,” I said.

“Your word?”

“Yes.”

“The kid you killed,” Kiley said.

“Kevin McGonigle.”

“Yeah. We represented him once.”

I raised my eyebrows. I could raise one at a time, but I saved that for women.

“Him and another guy, guy named Scanlan, got arrested on assault charges. They beat up a real estate appraiser. Cops caught them in progress, down back of South Station.”

“Why?”

“Appraiser claims he didn’t know them, had no idea why they assaulted him. Refused to press charges.”

Kiley was right about the cranberry muffins.

“So how’d you get involved?” I said.

“Guy called here, asked us to go down and see about them. We represented them maybe two hours.”

“They call you?”

“No. Ann took it.”

“She go down?”

“Yes.”

“What was the appraiser’s name?” I said.

Kiley took a piece of folded notepaper from his shirt pocket and read it.

“Bisbee,” he said. “Thomas Bisbee.”

He handed me the paper.

“Who paid you?”

“That’s bothersome,” Kiley said. “We got no record of anybody paying us.”

“Any record of anybody being billed?”

“No.”

“That is bothersome,” I said. “McGonigle didn’t look like your kind of client any more than DeRosa did.”

“We’re criminal lawyers,” Kiley said. “Some of our clients are criminals.”

“Usually criminals who can pay.”

“True.”

“Was McGonigle someone who could pay?”

“He wasn’t. He was muscle. Just like Scanlan.”

“Who were they working for?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

I got up and went to the serving counter and got more coffee for myself and a fresh cup for Kiley.

“So,” I said when I came back, “what do you want from me?”

“I want to know how deep in she is,” Kiley said.

“You asked her?”

“She won’t talk to me about it. She says it’s a question of professional respect, that she won’t allow me to treat her like a child.”

“And you want me to find out what happened,” I said.

“Goddamn it, she’s my child.”

I nodded. “I have a client,” I said.

“I’m not asking you anything that would interfere with that. I’m asking you while you’re serving your client to keep an eye out. And let me know.”

“Give me the name of the other guy she defended.”

“Chuckie Scanlan.”

“Chuck,” I said.

“You know him?”

“No. Guy named Jack DeRosa claimed a guy named Chuck put him in touch with Mary Smith.”

“Common name,” Kiley said.

I nodded. “Where do I find him?”

“Works in a liquor store on Broadway. Donovan’s.”

“Ann knows this guy, she knew DeRosa, and she is, or was, Marvin Conroy’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah. I noticed that, too,” Kiley said.

“Ann know where Conroy is?” I said.

“She says she doesn’t.”

“We may be going in the same direction,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”

“And report to me.”

“Anything I find out about Ann, I’ll report to you first.”

“Only,” Kiley said.

“Bobby, what if she’s in too far?”

“She’s my only child, Spenser. Her mother’s dead.”

“I can’t promise, Bobby. I can walk away from this conversation and say nothing to anybody. But I can’t promise you more than I can promise you.”

“You going to talk with Chuckie Scanlan?”

“Yes.”

“And if that leads you someplace and Ann’s in it really deep?”

“Then I’ll talk to you,” I said.

“Before you talk to anyone else?”

“Yes.”

“And what?” Kiley said.

“And we’ll decide,” I said.