"Oh, shit." He checked his watch, then reached under and came up with an overnight bag. "I gotta get out of here."
"Where are you going?" As far as I knew, Dan didn't travel anywhere except back and forth to Logan Airport.
"Jersey. I'm going down to see my kid."
"Michelle."
"Yeah, I called her last night and told her I was coming. She'll be waiting for me." As he put on his jacket, he couldn't stop grinning. It was an unabashed, I'm-crazy-about-this-kid-and-don't-care-who-knows-it smile. "She's a pisser. I can't believe some of the stuff she comes up with."
I smiled, too, picturing a miniature female Dan racing around at Mach speeds, spewing invectives. "Does she talk like you?"
It took him a moment to get my drift, but when he did, he was horrified. "No fucking way. I don't swear around my kid." He put his hand over his heart. "On my mother's grave, she has never heard me cuss. Not once. Not my kid."
"If you say so." He unzipped the bag and started loading in files and printouts. I snatched them all back, including the calendar. "I'll take care of this."
"You sure?"
"If you're going to be with your daughter, be with her. And by the way, why did I have to hear about her from Lenny?"
"I don't know. It never came up." He closed the bag and looked at me. "You got any?"
"Kids? No."
"Ever been married?"
"No."
"See that? I didn't know that about you. It never came up."
I squeezed back into my shoes and followed him to the reception area. "Hold on, I'll walk you to your gate." I grabbed my coat and briefcase, closed up my office, and we started walking. It was hard to talk as we pushed through the crowded concourse, so I waited until we'd arrived at his gate. The agents on his flight were boarding stragglers, so I had a chance to tell him about my tete-a-tete with Big Pete. I kept my voice low so no one could eavesdrop.
"Am I doing the right thing not bringing back Little Pete?" I asked.
The bag thudded to the floor as he leaned back against one of the windows. "I think you're doing the right thing-" He caught himself and started again. "I know you're doing the right thing. The question is, can we deal with the consequences? And I'm not just talking about here in Boston. Have you talked this over with your boss?"
"Not exactly."
"I'll tell you what's going to happen. Assuming we could even get Terry McTavish to talk and we can nail Little Pete in the first place, Lenny is going to find some way to make a deal with the union and bring him in through the back door. Lenny will be a hero and we'll look like idiots."
"If we can prove that the guy was drunk on the job and physically attacked another employee, I can't see how Lenny could bring him back, if for no other reason than self-preservation. Setting aside all the issues of moral responsibility and self-righteous breast beating, in terms of pure self-interest, knowing what we know-"
"Suspect. What we suspect. Right now we can't prove anything."
"You're right, but if we get to the point where we can prove it, we would have no choice but to pursue his termination. And if Lenny was aware of the same facts, he'd be on the hook, too."
"You're going to threaten him?"
"I'm simply going to make him aware of all the facts. Maybe in writing."
"Sneaky, but be careful. Lenny has no problem looking out for his self-interest. It's your interest I'd be worried about. He'll find a way to get what he wants and blame all the bad stuff on you. He did it to Ellen over and over." He checked the activity at the boarding door. "By the way, is next week soon enough on Angelo? I thought I'd call him when I get in on Monday."
"Monday's fine," I said. "I can't wait to meet the famous Angelo. In my mind, he's almost achieved mythic stature."
"What are you doing this weekend, boss? Looking for apartments?"
"No. And I won't be having as much fun as you will. I'm going to keep an eye on the operation, and if I have time, I might also go back to Marblehead."
"You're going back up?" He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder. "I thought you gave your word to Lenny."
"I only said I wouldn't go into the house. I'm going to check out Ellen's athletic club, talk to her trainer. If I'm reading her invoice correctly, she did a training session a few hours before she died, which seems odd to me. I've also got this mystery woman, Julia Milholland. If she ever calls me back, there might be something to do there."
He was grinning. "I knew you'd come around."
"I haven't come around. I'm simply getting a few questions answered to my own satisfaction."
"Whatever you say." The gate agent motioned to Dan. I walked with him through the boarding lounge.
"One more thing," I said. "Remember I showed you that fax I found on Ellen's machine at her house? The one setting up a meeting? I faxed it back with a request for a meeting of my own."
"For when?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Shanahan, you sure you want to do that alone? We don't know who this is."
"If it was someone who was working with Ellen, giving her information, he could be helpful."
"What if it's not that person? What if it's the person who swiped the answering machine tapes? Ever think of that?"
Actually, I hadn't. "I set it up at a restaurant, so it'll be crowded, lots of people around. Besides, he probably won't even get the message. I thought it was worth a shot."
"We've got to go, Danny." The gate agent was getting nervous.
Dan went to the podium and jotted a phone number on an empty ticket jacket. "This is where I'll be in Jersey. It's my cousin's place. I'll be back no later than Sunday morning, but you call me if you need me. I'll come back."
"Nothing's going to happen, and I don't want to take you away from your weekend with your daughter."
"Just take it, Shanahan."
I took the envelope. Then I followed him as far as the boarding door and watched him stroll down the jetbridge, chatting with the agent.
"Dan…"
He stopped and turned, while the agent kept going. "Yeah, boss?"
"Have a great weekend with Michelle."
He was wearing that high-beam grin again as he turned to board the aircraft. He went off to see his little girl, and I went back to my hotel.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Marblehead was different in daylight. Twenty miles north of Boston, it was one of those classic New England seaside communities. It had the dense, layered feel of a European village with narrow, winding streets nestled among the hills and tall trees. The houses were immaculate, three-hundred-year-old clapboard boxes painted the perfect shade of peach or gray or blue or yellow with shutters to match, wreaths on the doors, and brick driveways with flowerpots. All of them. They looked more like museums than houses, and I had the impression that the people who occupied them lived among us but not of us, which, come to think of it, was not inconsistent with how Ellen had lived.
A brunette, milky-skinned twenty-something named Heather was behind the counter at the Marblehead Athletic Club. When she saw me approaching, she laid two big, fluffy towels on the counter. This must be a good club. You could always tell by the quality of the towels. And since they had to be doled out by the staff and not left lying around for anyone to use, it must be a very good club.
"What locker can I get for you?"
"I'm here to see Tommy Kerwin. I have an appointment."
"Oh." She whipped those towels back and secured them in a safe place behind the counter. "I'll page him for you."
"Thank you."
Ellen's personal trainer was in his twenties, a solid block of muscle in a forest green Marblehead Athletic Club T-shirt and black shorts. His build reminded me of those Rock'em Sock'em Robots, the kind where the head pops up when you hit them just right.