Belson knocked and opened the door. ”Here he is, Marty.“
Quirk sat at a desk that had nothing on it but a phone and a clear plastic cube containing pictures of his family. He was immaculate and impervious, as he had been every other time I ever saw him. I wondered if his bedroom slippers had a spit shine. Probably didn’t own bedroom slippers. Probably didn’t sleep. He said, ”Thanks, Frank. I’ll see him alone.“
Belson nodded and closed the door behind me. There was a straight chair in front of the desk. I sat in it. Quirk looked at me without saying anything. I looked back. There was a traffic cop outside at the Stuart Street intersection and I could hear his whistle as he moved cars around the construction.
Quirk said, ”I think you burned those two studs up in Saugus.“
I said, ”Uh-huh.“
”I think you set them up and burned them.“
”Uh-huh.“
”I went up and took a look early this morning. One of the MDC people asked me to. Informal. Doerr never fired his piece. Wally Hogg did, the magazine’s nearly empty, there’s a lot of brass up above the death scene in the woods, and there’s ricochet marks on one side of the big rock. There’s also six spent twelve-gauge shells on the ground on the other side of the rock. The shrubs are torn up around where the M-sixteen brass was. Like somebody fired off about five rounds of shotgun into the area.“
”Uh-huh.“
”You knew that Doerr was gunning for you. You let him know you’d be there and you figured they’d try to backshoot you and you figured you could beat them. And you were right.“
”That’s really swell, Quirk, you got some swell imagination.“
”It’s more than imagination, Spenser. You’re around buying me a drink, asking about Frank Doerr. Next day I get a tip that Doerr is going to blow you up, and this morning I was looking at Doerr and his gunsel dead up the woods. You got an alibi for yesterday afternoon and evening?“
”Do I need one?“
Quirk picked up the clear plastic cube on his desk and looked at the pictures of his family. In the outer office a phone rang. A typewriter clacked uncertainly. Quirk put the cube down again on the desk and looked at me.
”No,“ he said. ”I don’t think you do.“
”You mean you didn’t share your theories with the Saugus cops?“
”It’s not my territory.“
”Then why the hell am I sitting here nodding my head while you talk?“
”Because this is my territory.“ The hesitant typist in the outer office was still hunting and pecking. ”Look, Spenser, I am not in sorrow’s clutch because Frank Doerr and his animal went down. And I’m not even all that unhappy that you put them down. There’s a lot of guys couldn’t do it, and a lot of guys wouldn’t try. I don’t know why you did it, but I guess probably it wasn’t for dough and maybe it wasn’t even for protection. If I had to guess, I’d guess it might have been to take the squeeze off of someone else. The squeezee, you might say.“
”You might,“ I said. ”I wouldn’t.“
”Yeah. Anyway. I’m saying to you you didn’t burn them in my city. And I’m kind of glad they’re burnt. But…“
Quirk paused and looked at me. His stare was as heavy and solid as his fist. ”Don’t do it ever in my city.“
I said nothing.
”And,“ he said, ”don’t start thinking you’re some kind of goddamned vigilante. If you get away with this, don’t get tempted to do it again. Here or anywhere. You understand what I’m saying to you?“
”Yeah. I do.“
”We’ve known each other awhile, Spenser, and maybe we got a certain amount of respect. But we’re not friends. And I’m not a guy you know. I’m a cop.“
”Nothing else?“
”Yeah,“ Quirk said, ”something else. I’m a husband and a father and a cop. But the last one’s the only thing that makes any difference to you.“
”No, not quite. The husband and father makes a difference too. Nobody should be just a job.“
”Okay, we agree. But believe what I tell you. I won’t bite this bullet again.“
”Got it,“ I said.
”Good.“
I stood up, started for the door and stopped, and turned around and said, ”Marty?“
”Yeah?“
”Shake,“ I said.
He put his hand out across his desk, and we did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
No ONE DROVE me home. It’s a short walk from Berkeley Street to my place, and I liked the walk. It gave me time to think, and I needed time. A lot had happened in a short while, and not all of it was going my way. I hadn’t thought it would, but there’s always hope.
It was afternoon when I got home. I made two lettuce and tomato sandwiches on homemade wheat bread, poured a glass of milk, sat at the counter, and ate and drank the milk and thought about where I was at and where the Rabbs were at and where Bucky Maynard was at. I knew where Doerr and his gunner were at. I had a piece of rhubarb pie for dessert. Put the dishes in the dishwasher, wiped the counter off with a sponge, washed my hands and face, and headed for Church Park.
It was in walking distance and I walked. The wind was still strong, but there was less grit in the air along Marlborough Street, and what little there was rattled harmlessly on my sunglasses. Linda Rabb let me in.
”I heard on the radio that what’s‘isname Doerr and another man were killed,“ she said. She wore a loose sleeveless dress, striped black and white like mattress ticking, and white sandals. Her hair was in two braids, each tied with a small white ribbon, and her face was without makeup.
”Yeah, me too,“ I said. ”Your husband home?“
”No, he’s gone to the park.“
”Your boy?“
”He’s in nursery school.“
”We need to talk,“ I said.
She nodded. ”Would you like coffee or anything?“
”Yeah, coffee would be good.“
”Instant okay?“
”Sure, black.“
I sat in the living room while she made coffee. From the kitchen came the faintly hysterical sounds of daytime television. The set clicked off and Linda Rabb returned, carrying a round black tray with two cups of coffee on it. I took one.
”I’ve talked with Bucky Maynard,“ I said, and sipped the coffee. ”He won’t let go.“
”Even though Doerr is dead?“ Linda Rabb was sitting on an ottoman, her coffee on the floor beside her.
I nodded. ”Now he wants his piece.“
We were quiet. Linda Rabb sipped at her coffee, holding the cup in both hands, letting the steam warm her face. I drank some more of mine. It was too hot still, but I drank it anyway. The sound of my swallow seemed loud to me.
”We both know, don’t we?“ Linda Rabb said.
”I think so,“ I said.
”If I make a public statement about the way I used to be, we’ll be free of Maynard, won’t we?“
”I think so,“ I said. ”He can still allege that Marty threw some games, but that implicates him too and he goes down the tube with you. I don’t think he will. He gets nothing out of it. No money, nothing. And his career is shot as bad as Marty’s.“
She kept her face buried in the coffee cup.
”I can’t think of another way,“ I said.
She lifted her face and looked at me and said, ”Could you kill him?“
I said, ”No.“
She nodded, without expression. ”What would be the best way to confess?“
”I will find you a reporter and you tell the story any way you wish, but leave out the blackmail. That way there’s no press conferences, photographers, whatever. After he publishes the story, you refer all inquiry to me. You got any money in the house?“
”Of course.“
”Okay, give me a dollar,“ I said.
She went to the kitchen and returned with a dollar bill. I took out one of my business cards and acknowledged receipt on the back of it and gave it to her.
”Now you are my client,“ I said. ”I represent you.“