"No."
"So wherever he went, he took it with him."
"Yep, and we know he's got one because one of those phone messages was about a bounced check."
"How you feeling?" Hawk said.
"I haven't thrown up yet," I said.
"Good to work with a pro."
"Even better to work out here where the smell isn't as strong," I said.
"Okay. There's that," Hawk said. "You want to wipe down the door knobs and the light switches."
"No. It's reasonable that my fingerprints would be there."
"You calling the cops?"
"Yes."
"Law abiding," Hawk said.
I took off the gloves and dropped them into the Nike bag. I put the spare keys in there too, except the one for the office.
"Hang onto these," I said.
"Law abiding, but not crazy," Hawk said.
"I'll be in touch," I said. "When the cops get through yelling at me."
Hawk smiled, took the Nike bag, and went out the office door, leaving it open behind him. I waited five minutes for him to clear the building, then I dialed up Martin Quirk.
chapter twenty-two
I SAT IN Patti's chair in the outer office for maybe an hour and a half waiting for Quirk to get to me. Quirk hadn't changed much since he made captain. He still showed up at most crime scenes. He spent too much time investigating and too little time managing the department, which was why it took him so long to make captain in the first place, and why a lot of the hierarchy wanted to replace him. And I knew that he cleared more cases than any commander in the department, which was why the hierarchy couldn't replace him. If Quirk knew any of this, he paid no attention to it.
Finally it was my turn.
"You know how to give a statement," Quirk said. "Christ knows you've done enough of them."
He and I were sitting together in the outer office, Quirk on the corner of Patti's desk, me still in her chair, which was too small. Quirk's employees had photographed the corpse and now were dusting for fingerprints, and measuring, and sampling, and poking, and studying. A team from the coroner's office finished getting the remains into a body bag and onto a gurney. They trundled it past us as we sat, leaving behind only the blood-stained rug, a chalk outline, and the strong smell.
"Well," I said. "First of all you'll find my fingerprints on the door and the light switches and the phone."
"I sort of guessed that," Quirk said. "And I'm also guessing that we won't find them anywhere else."
"Of course not," I said.
"Which will not mean that you didn't touch anything else."
"Boy, have you gotten cynical," I said, "since you made captain."
Quirk rarely smiled, and he didn't this time, but his gaze, which was always steady, rested on me a little more lightly than it sometimes did.
"Go on," he said. "Tell me your story."
So I did, as best as I could, since I didn't understand it too well myself. I left out any mention of searching Sterling's apartment. Quirk listened without expression. His thick hands rested quietly on his thighs. He always dressed well. Tonight he had on a blue tweed jacket and a white button-down shirt with a blue knit tie and gray slacks. He never needed a haircut. He always looked clean-shaven. His shirts were always freshly laundered. His plain toe cordovan shoes were always shined. When I got through explaining myself, Quirk was silent for a time.
Then he said, "Susan's ex-husband?"
"Yes."
He was silent again for a time. Then he shook his head slowly. I shrugged.
"And this is his office," Quirk said after a while. "To which he gave you a key."
"Yes."
"Because he thought it might be convenient for you to come here and let yourself in."
"Right," I said.
Quirk looked at me some more.
"We both know that's horseshit," he said. "But we also know that's all you're going to say until there's reason to say something else."
"Captain, you can't mean that," I said.
"I know you long enough to know how many corners you'll cut," Quirk said. "But I also know you end up most of the time on the right side of the way things work out."
I looked at him openly and honestly and didn't say anything.
"And"-Quirk almost smiled-"you got enough problems for the moment." He shook his head. "Susan's ex. Jesus Christ."
"You don't know who the stiff is?" I said.
"White male."
"Driver's license, anything?"
Quirk almost made a face.
"Coroner's people will go through the body," he said.
"Don't blame you," I said. "Coroner say anything about time of death."
"A while ago," Quirk said. "They get him to the lab, they'll be more exact."
"Cause of death?"
"Gunshot. Probably a small caliber. In the chest, doesn't seem to be an exit wound. We assume it's still in him."
"So he was facing whoever shot him."
"Yep. And he was carrying. When they were getting him in the bag there was a gun under him. Colt Python."
"So he had it out," I said.
"Not quite soon enough," Quirk said.
"So maybe he wasn't just somebody stopped by to organize an event," I said.
"Lot of people carry guns these days," Quirk said.
"The American way," I said. "You'll let me know when you get an ID?"
"Sure," Quirk said. "That's how we like to operate. We tell you everything we know. You bullshit us. You don't know where your client is now, I suppose."
"No I don't."
"You find out maybe you could give me a jingle?"
"Of course," I said.
Quirk did not look as if he believed me entirely.
"You think he shot this guy?" he said.
"His office," I said. "And he's disappeared."
"We noticed that too."
"Doesn't mean he did it," I said.
"Doesn't mean he didn't," Quirk said.
"Mind if I go," I said.
"Go ahead," Quirk said.
I was tired. I walked slowly out through the uniformed cops standing around in the corridor and got in the elevator and went down. I looked at my watch. It was 3:40. When I went outside it was raining. Boylston Street was empty. The wet pavement gleamed under the street lights, reflecting the bright lifeless color of the neon signs that gleamed an artificial welcome outside bars and restaurants closed for the night. I turned up my coat collar and trudged down Boylston Street, thinking about the most encouraging way to tell Susan that her ex had upgraded from sexist to murder suspect. The rain came harder. This thing showed every sign of not working out well for me.
chapter twenty-three
SUSAN HAD HER first appointment at eight. Normally I never called her before she went to work, because she was zooming around like the Flight of the Bumble Bee, getting ready. Years ago I had stopped asking stupid questions, like why not start getting ready earlier so you won't be so rushed? And when I was there in the morning, I sat at the kitchen counter and had coffee and read the paper so as not to get trampled. But this morning I didn't want her to hear from television about the corpse in Sterling's office. They probably didn't have it yet, but I didn't want to take the chance. So soggy with two hours' sleep I turned off my alarm and rolled over in bed and called her up and told her what I knew.
"Do you know where Brad is?" Susan said.
As always, about important stuff Susan was calm. It is about the small stuff that she permits herself frenzy.
"No. He's not at home, or at least he wasn't last night."
"Do you think he is in trouble?"
"Yes," I said.
"Do you think he killed the man?"
"Don't know," I said. "He's obviously a suspect."
"Do you want to get out of this?"
"Not unless you want me to."
She was quiet on the phone for a moment.
"No, if you are willing, I'd like us to see it through."
"I'm willing," I said.
"When will I see you?" Susan said.
"After your last patient," I said. "I'll buy you dinner."