“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.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Quirk called me in the morning, at home, while I was still lying in bed thinking about orange juice.
“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.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Levesque’s statement was sort of complete, but the essence of it was that his old friend Mary Toricelli Smith had given him the gun to dispose of, and he had kept it instead.
“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.”