“I think she may have been with him,” I said. “Or maybe she’s scared and hiding.”
“Jemma is a smart woman,” he said. “She’s not one prone to hysterics.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “Although a beheading might rattle her a little.”
“Did the Weinbergs tell you their daughter had once been kidnapped?”
I nodded.
“I would want to know more about that situation.”
“What do you know about that situation?”
“Only that it was a rough time for them.”
I nodded. Rose put hand to chin and nodded back. He folded his hands again across his chest and waited for me to speak. What the hell. I took the bait.
“I heard you may withdraw your bid,” I said. “Close up shop.”
“We have had plenty of threats,” he said.
“From whom?”
“We don’t know,” he said. “Anonymous e-mails. Calls from disposable phones.”
“Cranks?”
“We’re not sure.” Rose straightened his wrinkled tie. Two buttons on his dress shirt were open, exposing his soft, hairless stomach. “But I have spent the last ten years prepping to open a casino in Boston. I have done countless studies and compiled all the data that will make sure it happens according to our plans.”
“Even without the needed land?”
“We have our own properties,” Rose said. “Our casino isn’t as grand, but it will complement the East Boston lifestyle.”
“Beer and clam buckets.”
Harvey Rose stood and offered his hand. “Whatever it takes, Mr. Spenser.”
36
OUTSIDE, AN UNMARKED state cop car sat idling next to my Explorer. Healy and Lundquist climbed out. Lundquist nodded to me and walked around the car to the driver’s side. Healy walked over to where I stood and said, “Where’s Z?”
“On assignment.”
Healy shrugged. “Let’s take a ride.”
“Get me home before curfew?”
“Drive,” Healy said.
I unlocked my SUV and Healy got in on the passenger side. Lundquist backed out and drove off. I followed him to the pike and toward downtown. Healy was quiet until we got in the flow of traffic.
“We found the rest of Weinberg,” he said.
“Where?”
“Floated up by the Tea Party Museum,” he said. “A bunch of schoolkids saw it. They’ll be in therapy until they’re fifty.”
“You want some coffee?” I said.
“Why the hell not?”
I put on my blinker and passed Lundquist. He followed me and did the same. We got off by BU and found a Dunkin’ Donuts on Buick Street. I parked in front of a hydrant.
“Lawbreaker,” Healy said.
“I prefer rebel.”
Lundquist sat in the car on his cell phone. I followed Healy inside and we ordered a couple of coffees. The endless varieties of donuts called to me like sirens. I resisted.
We took the coffees to one of those little ledges where you can stand and eat. We watched the college kids shuffle past us on Buick, backpacks heavy on their shoulders.
“What did Rose say?” Healy said.
“Not much,” I said. “The man has no sense of humor.”
“The problem is that you think you’re funny, Spenser,” Healy said. “A guy who taught at Harvard would find you juvenile.”
I shrugged.
Healy drank some coffee. A Boston PD car pulled behind my Explorer with its lights on. Lundquist got out and reasoned with him. The prowlie took off.
“Perks,” I said.
“Did Rose give you any suspects?”
“He thinks it’s related to organized crime.”
“Gee,” Healy said. “Wish we’d thought of that.”
“So that narrows it down to some key players.”
“Ukrainians, Irish, Italians, Vietnamese, or some new crew we never heard of.”
“My associate and I spoke to an upstanding member of Boston society yesterday,” I said. “He hinted it was the Mob. But he didn’t say if it was hometown or imported.”
“Yeah,” Healy said. “But you and I are thinking the same thing.”
“Chocolate glazed?”
“Gino Fish.”
“Does a beheading sound like Gino to you?” I said.
“Doesn’t sound like the Girl Scouts.”
“Who else?”
“Maybe something the Ukrainians would do,” Healy said.
“True.”
“You’ve dealt with those creeps.”
“Yep.”
“Not nice folks.”
“Nope.”
“We don’t have jack,” Healy said. “I’d like to talk to Gino anyway. If he isn’t involved, he will sure as hell know. He can throw a rock from his front porch to Wonderland.”
I nodded.
“And you being such good buddies with him and Vinnie Morris,” Healy said. “Might have a better chance with an unofficial visit.” He sipped his coffee and stared out the big plate-glass window.
“I am judicious about using my in with Gino.”
“This would be the time.”
I nodded. A man in a hairnet walked through a swinging door with a loaded rack of fresh glazed.
“You call us when you find out?”
I nodded.
“Christ, don’t be the Ukrainians.”
“You told Rachel Weinberg about the body?” I said.
“Headed that way,” he said.
“Bad choice of words.”
“Hell, she already knows. The news crews beat us there.”
“You think a glazed might brighten my day?”
“Go for it, big guy,” Healy said. He slapped my back as he left. I watched from the other side of the glass as he and Lundquist drove off. My SUV looked very exposed out by the meter.
37
THE KING SUITE HAD an impressive sitting area with comfortable plush chairs and a big green-and-gold sofa. There was a built-in bookshelf filled with leather-bound books, framed botanical prints, gilded knickknacks on the coffee table, and a mantel over what I presumed to be a working fireplace. A baby grand piano sat by a bank of windows with a sweeping view of the Public Garden. Flowers, sympathy cards, and a fruit basket sat on the baby grand, covered in red cellophane. No one spoke. Rachel Weinberg and Blanchard sat across from each other. Rachel smoked. Who was going to tell her it was against the rules?
I took a seat. Rachel was dressed in another velvety jogging suit. Blanchard sat remote and cross-legged in a plush chair. He wore dark green dress pants and a white dress shirt with no tie. He leaned forward, hands laced in front of him, staring intently at the ground. A uniformed cop sat in the master bedroom, drinking coffee.
“What did Harvey say?” Rachel said. Her voice was rough, as if it was the first time she’d spoken in hours.
“He said he was very sorry,” I said.
“Bullshit.”
“You doubt his sincerity?”
“He’s not normal,” Rachel said. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s a very, very intelligent man. But he’s missing something. It’s like he was born without a personality.”
“That would account for him not thinking I’m funny.”
Blanchard looked up from his hands. He lifted his eyebrows and then looked back down.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Spenser?” she said.
I shook my head. “Do you mind me asking about your daughter’s kidnapping?” I said. “I know it was a few years ago, but could it be related?”
Blanchard shook his head. He looked to Rachel, and Rachel nodded back to him. She looked much older and paler without any makeup.
“That has nothing to do with what happened,” he said. “That’s an unrelated matter.”