"Much," she said. And was into the bathroom. The door closed. I heard the shower go on. I got up, put my pants on, buckled my belt, put my gun in its holster, and went to the kitchen. I washed my face and hands and torso at the kitchen sink. Then I started water for coffee.
I was drinking my second cup when Susan appeared in the kitchen, her hair in curlers and some makeup on. She poured hot water over a bag of herbal tea in her cup and let it sit for a minute, looking impatiently at it while it steeped.
I said, "I know that it is nearly impossible to talk while you are performing the morning ablutions, but we have to think about your safety."
Susan snatched the tea bag from the partially steeped tea. "I can't think about that now. I'm in my speeded-up movie mode, and you know what I'm like in that mode."
"Yes," I said.
She took her tea and went back to the bathroom. I sat at the glass brick counter in her kitchen and made two phone calls. One was to Henry Cimoli with a message for Hawk. The second one was to Martin Quirk.
"Someone broke into Susan's front hall and left a single rose in a box, with tissue paper," I said. "I chased him and couldn't catch him. I didn't get a good look at him."
"You got the box?"
"Yeah, and the rose and the paper. I'll bet there's no prints on it."
"I'll bet you're right," Quirk said. "But we'll try. Can you bring it over?"
"No," I said. "I'm not leaving her alone."
"May be just one of the fruitcakes she treats," Quirk said.
"Still not leaving her alone," I said.
"Yeah. Okay, I'll send somebody over. If it's one of her fruitcakes, there might be prints."
I hung up and sipped my second cup. Instant coffee has much less caffeine than ground coffee; two cups of instant was practically none. I put the water on to heat for a third cup.
Susan's phone rang. It was separate from the office phone. I picked it up and said, "Hello." Hawk's voice said, "Susan?" I said, "Nobody likes a minority smart-ass."
"True," Hawk said. "What you need?" I told him about the rose intruder.
Hawk said, "And he punched you in the head and you chased him and he got away? Was he a brother?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"You let a white guy run away from you?"
"What do you want from me," I said. "I'm a white guy too."
"Yeah, you so funky sometimes I forget. I'll come over in case we have to chase him again."
At two minutes to eight Susan appeared wearing a salt and-pepper-tweed jacket over a black turtleneck. She had on a full black skirt and black shoes with a short heel.
"You are more beautiful than a bird dog on point," I said.
"And damned near as smart," Susan said. "I know we have to talk more.
But I simply can't right now. I know you can't leave me unprotected, but I cannot have you or Hawk lounging in my waiting room when the patients come."
"I'm going to get your front door fixed and then one of us will be around, but we won't be in the way and we won't scare the patients."
"Yes," she said. She kissed me. I patted her on the fanny and she was out and down to her office as her first patient arrived. I heard her say "Come along" as I stood at the top of the stairs out of sight.
CHAPTER 12
A carpenter named Shutt came over and replaced Susan's jimmied front door. I gave Susan my S&W .32 to keep in her desk drawer, and Hawk and I took turns lingering at the top of Susan's stairs while she conducted business. There are few things more boring than standing around at the top of a stairwell out of sight.
When Susan got through that night I took her down to Cambridge Police Headquarters to get her a pistol permit. The gun guy was a bear-shaped Tac cop who'd served two tours in Vietnam and did some gunsmithing on the side.
"Can she shoot?" he said.
"Taught her myself," I said.
"I was afraid of that." The cop's name was Steve Costa. "Let's go up to the range, ma'am. Have you fire some rounds to qualify."
"What if I don't qualify?" Susan said.
Costa grinned. "You'll qualify," he said.
We went upstairs and along a corridor lined with tired yellow tiles.
Costa unlocked the door and we went into the range.
"Lovely," Susan said.
"Yeah, they don't waste much time on the range," Costa said.
The room looked like an afterthought, jammed into a forgotten space under a long stairwell. There was a small shooting table on which a coffee can full of brass had tipped over and spilled most of the cartridge casings on the floor. Costa walked down the narrow alley of the range and pinned a target onto the trolley with a clothespin. He set the target about fifteen feet away and walked back to the shooting table.
"As you can see, ma'am, the target consists of the silhouette of a man surrounded by increasingly concentric circles; the smallest circle, around the man's head and heart area, is worth ten points. The next circle is worth nine, and so on until the last circle, outside of which there is no score."
"Please call me Susan."
"Okay, Susan. In order to qualify for a license to carry firearms you have to score seventy, firing a maximum of thirty rounds."
"Fine," Susan said.
"Want to fire some for practice, Susan?"
"No, thank you."
I took the thirty-two out and laid it, pointing downrange, on the table beside her. We put on the earmuffs.
Costa said, "
"Cause Spenser and I go way back, I'm going to give you a little head start."
He took out his own gun, a nickel-plated .38 with a black rubber grip, settled into a two-hand shooting crouch, and put six shots inside the 10 circle. He and Susan walked down to look at the target.
"Why, I seem to be within ten points of qualifying already," she said.
Her smile was full of innocent amazement. Costa reloaded his gun.
"Here," he said, "use this one. It's all sighted in." It also shot the same size rounds as the bullet holes in the target. Susan caught on at once.
"Sure," she said. She picked up the gun, held it carefully in both hands, stood as I'd taught her to, cocked the gun with her right thumb, fired carefully, six shots, single action, and put all six inside the 7 circle. Then she put the thirty-eight back down on the shooter's table and waited while Costa went down to get the target.
"You forgot to yell, "Freeze, dirt bag."
" I said.
"Couldn't I say something else, like "It's all right, I'm a doctor'?" she said.
I shook my. head in disgust. "Don't you watch television?" I said.
Costa came back with the target and said, "That's good shooting, Susan.
You've qualified, no problem. Want to fire a few rounds just to get the feel of your weapon?"
Susan said, "No, thank you."
Costa turned to me. "Six rounds each?" he said. "For a case of beer?"
"Double action," I said. "Ten seconds to get all the shots off."
"Sure," Costa said, and picked up his gun, reloaded, and put six rounds into the new target in eight seconds. He dumped the brass, reloaded, put the gun on his hip, and went down to collect his target and hang a new one. I took my place, got out the Python, and when Costa said "Go."
I fired six rounds in seven seconds.
We both had all our shots in the kill zone, but Costa had four bull's-eyes and I had two.
"Budweiser," Costa said.
"Budweiser?"
"That's right," Costa said. "I drive a Chevy too."
"The heartbeat of America," I said. "I'll drop it off tomorrow."
As we left, Costa said, "Nice shooting, Susan. We'll expedite that permit; should have it by the time the beer arrives."
Walking to the car, Susan said, "I thought you were a good shot."
"I am a good shot," I said, "but Costa shoots every day."
Susan nodded. "I could have qualified without help, but I didn't want to take away his nice gesture."
"You always get it," I said.
"Now, let's go and get a cup of coffee and some cheesecake and decide what we think about the Red Rose business."