“And don’t you forget it,” she said.
61.
Behind captain quirk’s desk in the kind of new offices of the Homicide Unit was a picture of a very young Ted Williams, in a Minneapolis Millers uniform. He was beautiful. Nineteen years old then, and it was all ahead of him.
“I need a safe house for Susan,” I said.
“And you think I’m a general contractor?” Quirk said.
“Three, four days,” I said, “keep her safe. At least four guys.”
“You and Hawk aren’t enough?”
“And Vinnie,” I said. “And a guy from LA named Chollo.”
“The four of you?” Quirk said. “Not enough?”
“We have something we have to do,” I said.
“Legal?”
“No.”
“So you want me to aid and abet you,” Quirk said, “in an illegal action, by protecting your girlfriend at taxpayers’ expense while you’re doing it.”
“Yeah.”
Quirk sat quietly for a moment. His thick hands rested motionless on his desk. His nails were manicured. His shirt was very white and very starched. He had on a dark blue tie with maroon stripes. A brown/black corduroy jacket hung neatly on a hanger on the coatrack in the corner.
“You get a Tommy point for balls,” Quirk said fi nally. I nodded. We sat.
“Susan know about this yet?” he said.
“No.”
“Because if you can’t get her covered you can’t do what you want to do,” Quirk said.
“That’s right.”
“So fi rst you gotta fi nd out if I’ll buy in,” Quirk said.
“Yes.”
“Got to do with the deal you’re working on with Epstein?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“Don’t trust them,” I said.
“He’s pretty good,” Quirk said. “Don’t let the appearance fool you.”
“I know. It’s not him I don’t trust. I don’t know what his troops are like.”
Quirk nodded.
“Susan’s in real danger,” Quirk said. “You wouldn’t ask me if she weren’t.”
I nodded. Again we were quiet.
“I can’t assign people,” Quirk said.
I waited.
“But I can probably get a couple volunteers. Frank Belson will do it. Lee Farrell.”
“Need at least four,” I said.
Quirk shook his head.
“Settle for three,” he said.
“The third being. . . ?”
“Me,” Quirk said. “After offi ce hours.”
I nodded.
“Two guys, and you, make four anyway,” I said.
“’Specially if the other two are Belson and Farrell,” Quirk said.
“I owe you,” I said.
“You do, but I probably owe you, too,” Quirk said. “And I remember what you did for Frank when his wife was missing. You got a plan?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
62.
A t 10:48 on Monday morning a guy in a green Toyota dropped off a woman in front of Susan’s home. The woman wore a red snap-brim hat and sunglasses and a long black coat. She came up the front steps and into the front hall. Susan came to the offi ce door to greet her.
“I’m Susan Silverman,” she said.
I came out of the spare room.
“Detective Moira Mahoney,” she said.
We shook hands and went into Susan’s offi ce. As always when Susan had a patient, the louvered blinds were half closed on both sets of windows so that no one could see in. Moira put her purse down, took off the hat and the long coat and the shades, and laid them on Susan’s couch. She didn’t really look like Susan. Few people do. But she was the same size and shape and general coloration.
“You know the plan,” I said.
“Quirk laid it out quite carefully,” she said.
“Who drove you over,” I said.
“Lee Farrell,” Moira said. “He’s going to wait outside.”
“Alone?” I said.
“Frank Belson is up the street in another car,” Moira said.
“Good.”
“Thanks for doing this, Detective,” Susan said.
“Pleasure,” Moira said. “Got some coffee?”
“Sit down,” I said. “I’ll get you some.”
I got coffee from the spare room. When I came back, Moira was in the client chair and Susan was behind the desk.
“You’ll need to stay here until eleven,” Susan said.
“Sure,” Moira said.
“Want a free shrink?” Susan said.
Moira smiled.
“Can I get a rain check for my husband,” she said. Susan laughed.
“And how will you get home?” she said.
“Somebody can drop me in Central Square,” Moira said. “I’m parked in the Cambridge Police lot.”
“Will I see you later?” Susan said.
“Nope. I’m just here for the head fake,” Moira said. “Then back to normal duty. I don’t even know where you’re going.”
“Too bad,” Susan said. “A woman would be nice.”
“You got Lee,” Moira said.
“He’s been with me before,” Susan said. “I don’t find him womanly.”
Moira smiled.
“It’s Lee’s joke,” she said. “On the ride over here he said that’s why he always gets this duty.”
“Lee’s pretty good at being gay,” I said.
“The best,” Moira said.
I stood at the front window looking out between the slanted louvers. After a time, Hawk came into the room. Moira looked at him like an aardvark at a termite mound.
“You’re Hawk,” she said, “aren’t you.”
“Yes, I am,” Hawk said.
“I’ve heard about you.”
“All true,” Hawk said.
“If we finally bust you,” Moira said, “I hope I’m in on the collar.”
“If you not,” Hawk said, “I have you paged.”
Moira smiled.
“Please,” she said.
Hawk looked at me.
“Car here,” Hawk said.
“Farrell driving?”
“Yeah.”
“Any sign of Belson?”
“Nope.”
“There wouldn’t be,” I said. “He’ll be there. Vinnie and Chollo where they’re supposed to be.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I said. “Time for you to go out on the front porch and lounge on the railing and catch some air. When the woman comes out you pay her no attention.”
“You already tole me that,” Hawk said.
“Oh good,” I said. “You remembered.”
Hawk went. I looked at my watch. Twelve minutes past eleven o’clock.
“Okay, toots,” I said to Susan. “Get into your disguise.”
She smiled and nodded and put on the long coat and the wraparound shades.
Susan paused and looked around her offi ce for a moment.
“It won’t be long,” I said.
She nodded.
“Be very, very careful,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
She put her arms around me and kissed me. I put the red hat on her head and tilted it over her face the way Moira had worn it coming in.
“My hair,” Susan said.
“You can fi x it when you get there,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “I can.”
We looked at each other for a moment, then she turned and went out the door past Hawk, who ignored her, down the steps, and got into the passenger side of the green Toyota beside Farrell. They drove away. Hawk remained where he was taking the air happily. Not a care in the world. Seeing everything that moved on Linnaean Street.
63.
After a proper interval I drove Moira Mahoney up to Central Square and went on into Boston, parked on a hydrant on Beacon Street, and walked down across the Common to Locke-Ober’s on Winter Place. Epstein was at the bar in the foyer when I got there. He had a Gibson in front of him.