"Watching you charge around on this one, I'm inclined to believe you," Rita said.
"I was distracted," I said.
Rita nodded. Her cigarette was out and she got another from the pack and lit it. "That's what Quirk told me." She made a dismissive wiggle with the hand holding the cigarette. "Be that as it may. You had it backwards when you brought Winston into that meeting. And we bought it. We all thought Paultz was running Winston when in fact Winston was running Paultz."
"And when I started to find the connection between them," I said, "he figured a way to dump Paultz and get out from under and keep the heroin business in exchange for backing away from the church and maybe a short jail term."
"Yes, as long as he could kill Paultz before Paultz told his side. We figure Paultz went for the trust deal to stall until he found out what Winston was up to."
"At which point he'd have killed Winston," I said.
Rita smiled. "Yes. It was pretty much a two man swindle. Each was the only one that could connect the other one."
"Which brings us to Sherry," I said.
"Dear little Sherry," Rita said. "Twenty years old, the soul of piety and love. She jerked you clowns around like trout."
"It's not that simple," I said.
"Why isn't it," Rita said.
"Because it isn't. Hell, nothing is, not really. She killed Paultz. Winston asked her to and she did and by that point it probably didn't bother her. But she wasn't just a girl who'd shoot someone. She loved Winston, I think. And she loved Tommy Banks."
"Wouldn't it be pretty to think so," Rita said.
"Christ, a literate prosecutor," I said.
"Literate and sexy," she said.
"They're all sexy," I said. "It's the literate that makes you special."
"She did it all for love?" Rita said.
"No, I don't know if she even knew what she did it all for. But she was a kid looking for a place. She tried dancing and religion. She tried loving Tommy and Winston. Paul says she wrote poetry. She wanted to be something that mattered or that was exciting or that wasn't ordinary. Under different circumstances she'd be taking courses at the Adult Ed Center in Cambridge, and working on a play."
Rita sucked in the corners of her mouth and shook her head.
"Or she might have gone to law school," I said. "And when the money and the power of the dope deal came along it hooked her. She wouldn't give it up and she wouldn't stop being powerful and rich and she would do anything not to go back to writing poetry and trying to dance and thinking about religion and so she shot Paultz and then when Winston wouldn't tell the truth even to save her she turned on him and finally on me. I was all that was left to keep her from her place."
"Maybe," Rita said. "Or maybe she was a conniving little bitch that bamboozled all of you."
"She'd never have spent as much time with Tommy as she did. She'd have latched on to Winston and stayed. But she didn't, she vacillated. She came back to Tommy, then went back to Winston, why would she try and be with Tommy if she was simply after money and power?"
"And Paultz didn't know anything about her?"
"No reason he should," I said. "And a lot of reason, once Winston was backing away from the church, that he shouldn't. Maybe Winston always knew he might need a straw. Maybe he kept her relationship with him secret so he could use her when he needed her."
"How about Banks," Rita said. "What made him suspicious all of a sudden?"
"Jealousy. He may have known her better than he could admit. He may have always known she was bitchier than she acted. But until he lost her and couldn't get her back, he didn't care. I think he started following her simply for a way to keep in contact. Knowledge is power, you know, and if he could spy her out and follow her around and know what she was doing . . . It was like he still had some control. I don't think he was suspicious about the heroin deal. I think he just stumbled on it and decided to use it as a way to get her back. It's all he ever really wanted. To have her and control her and, you know, own her."
"Ain't love grand," Rita said.
"So what happens to the Bullies?"
"Norfolk County doesn't care," Rita said. "Unless they get back in the skag business again. They got a nice trust fund, I understand, and doubtless a new and charismatic leader will emerge to help them spend it."
"Ah, Rita, so young, so cynical," I said.
"But literate," she said. "And sexy."
"Perhaps," I said, "when I get out of here I should buy you a drink and discuss books with you."
"Good thought," she said. "Keep in mind, too, when you get out of here, that Joe Broz will not be among your boosters. He wanted Winston's source and he got nothing. It will annoy him."
"A day is not wasted if you've annoyed Joe Broz," I said.
"Well, be a little careful," she said. "At least until we've had our drink."
"And had a literate discussion," I said.
"Literate and sexy," she said.
"Yes."
CHAPTER 48
It was nearly ten at night in Boston when I called Susan in San Francisco.
"How are you," she said. Her voice still small with pain. "Paul said you were out of town."
"I'm good," I said. "How are you?"
"I'm . . . I'm not good," she said. "I'm in therapy."
"That should help," I said. "In a while at least."
"Yes," she said. The pause seemed longer on the open phone line. "I . . . how bad has it been about my friend?" she said.
"Worst thing that ever happened to me," I said.
"How do you stand it?"
"Tough kid," I said. "Always been a tough kid."
Again the silence stretching across the darkening land.
"He's gone," Susan said.
It was like not drowning. I took a breath. Steady.
"He's gone back to his wife," she said.
"He's got a wife?"
"Yes." Susan's voice was tiny.
"Jesus Christ," I said.
And then her voice wasn't small. "I will not leave you," she said.
"In a manner of speaking."
I could hear the smile in her voice. "In a manner of speaking."
"He wanted to move in?" I said.
"He wanted to divorce his wife and marry me."
"And you wouldn't."
Again the strength. "I will not leave you," she said.
"Nor I you," I said.
"Do you suppose you could get away for a little while?" Susan said.
"In two weeks I can get away for as long as I want to."
"Would you come to San Francisco and visit me?"
"Yes."
"In two weeks?"
"Yes."
"It makes me feel less scared," Susan said.
"Me too," I said. "It makes me want to sing `I Left My Heart in San Francisco.'"
"It does?"
"Yeah," I said. "Want to hear me sing a couple choruses in perfect imitation of Tony Bennett?"
"No," Susan said, "not ever." And she laughed. And I laughed. And the two of us sat alone and far, and laughed carefully together at the verge of different oceans.
CHAPTER 25
I left Sherry with the confession and picture, back in the envelope. I took the other envelope and drove down to Quincy to visit Mickey. This time when I went in the two sluggers were there along with Paultz.
I tossed the manila envelope on the desk. The squinty-eyed one was chewing a toothpick. Nobody spoke. Paultz picked up the envelope and looked at the contents. He read my notes of Winston's spilled beans. Then he put the picture and the notes back into the envelope and put the envelope on the table next to a dirty white coffee mug that said Canobie Lake Park on it in red letters.
"This is going to get you killed, pal," Paultz said to me.
"Yeah, but only once," I said.
"You got copies of this shit," Paultz said. I didn't comment.
"But that's all you got," he said. "And when Winston's dead you'll have even less."
I waited.
Paultz sucked a little on his lower lip. "And when you're dead you'll have nothing at all."
"Be restful though," I said.
"You're going after a very big fish with a very goddamned small piece of bait. It doesn't make sense."